


Shedding Skin

by dbshawn



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Character Death In Dream, Knotting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25637341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dbshawn/pseuds/dbshawn
Summary: Arthur seems to have it all together, but a change in the somnacin formula unexpectedly exposes one of his greatest secrets to an unlikely ally, forcing him to question how he chooses to live the rest of his life.This gorgeous artwork has been provided by the multi-talentedStorm of Sharp Things!  She's taken the main themes of my story and brilliantly translated them into a striking visual image. Please click on her profile and support her work!
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception), Eames (Inception)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 32
Kudos: 111
Collections: Inception Big Bang 2020





	1. You're Late

**Author's Note:**

> Alright everyone, this puppy is DONE! I'll probably come back to this story in a month or two and clean it up a bit. But for now take a gander and enjoy! This has been a wonderful Inceptiversary!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team has a complicated job going on in Cairo, Egypt and Eames is tardy.

_Eames, you’re late._

He was occupied when that text came through. Discretely connected to a PASIV in his minimalist, yet chic hotel room just along the Inner Oslofjord. He’d alerted Arthur and Dom early on that his current job in Sweden might roll over into the next job’s planning phase. A day or two, three at the most. But now the team was five days in, holed up in an abandoned warehouse in Cairo, and Arthur was running out of patience waiting for the master forger to connect with them.

It was truly bad manners on his part. No need to be posh or highly educated to know that. But Eames opted to stay in Scandinavia a little bit longer than needed to indulge in what he labeled, self-care.

The thing about being an Alpha, at least for Eames, was that all of the descriptors for that title – strong, virile, protective, sexually hungry, irrational and violent (to name a few) provided a proper introduction into his persona. These are certainly things that he can be, has been in many moments. But they could never completely capture the totality of his inner or outer life.

Like the fact that he’s ticklish at his stomach and behind his knees. (And will protest ever being touched in those places, only to offer them up readily with the right lovers.) Or the fact that his atheist leanings will never tear him from the strangely mystical comfort of the hymns he first learned to sing in Catholic church. Or the way he positively melts at the touch of babies and cuddly creatures. Or even the fact that his connection to a person is never all about the sex. He doesn’t consider a union complete unless he really loves a person. And when that is true for him, then cradled within that love is a generous space for vulnerability where he can be, no, wants to be absolutely soft, pliant and yielding to his lover.

So yes, Eames is an Alpha through and through. But he’s not what many suppose or expect. And the fact of the matter is that for the last few years of his life, while indulging in sexual conquests, trysts and random affairs, he’s been deeply and utterly lonely. Not a surface level wistfulness visiting all of us upon occasion, where we miss easily acquired moments with our friends and family, to eat and drink and reconnect by sharing our latest adventures.

No, this was a deep aching weariness. A queasy, disorientation, feeling adrift in a choppy sea. The kind of isolation that was momentarily quelled with drugs or wine or sex. But then crept back over the surface of his life like a slow-moving virus, spiraling through patches of flesh, squeezing out bits of happiness he’d managed to cultivate like the burst of fresh grapes in the hand. Nothing but tattered skin and sloppy swill staining an otherwise solid canvas.

Which is why he took a few days for himself to go “under” and visit an old lover in the dreamscape. A beautiful black woman with a stunning smile and beguiling eyes. The only person he’d ever truly been in love with so far. She was soft and agile and patient. And when she touched him, he could feel himself melting, the minute particles of his body humming with a euphoria he’d long been in need of.

It was the second text that pierced the afterglow and funneled him back to the present.

Eames blinked a few times before opening his eyes and sighing heavily. His phone was on the desk next to the PASIV case. He reached over to get it, leaving the thin needle still inserted in his left wrist.

_I’ve brought Hanson in for the job._

“Oh Arthur. You fussy little twit,” he exclaimed. Eames slid the needle from his vein, plopped a band-aid over the surface wound and started collecting his things. He’s late enough that Arthur brought in reinforcements. Their re-acquaintance certainly won’t be pleasant.

* * *

Arthur bolts out of his chair and hurries to the kitchen to get himself two large glasses of water. He’s taken his vitamins, but had forgotten to take his “other” two pills until right now. He gave the rest of the team a few days of respite, thinking that Eames would be flying in as soon as the Sweden gig ended. But he should have known that the forger would take this time to go off onto one of his “forays of the flesh”, instead of handling his duties responsibly.

Arthur pulls the packets from his slacks and quickly opens them, popping them into his mouth and chasing them with the refreshingly cold tapwater.

“Friends, Romans, Countrymen, allow me to express my deepest apologies and assure you that our very important assignment can begin!”

Arthur stops mid swallow to grimace and roll his eyes. It’s not the deep, bellowing voice that’s off putting, nor the clipped vowels, appropriate for a man from the British Isles, that upsets him. Rather it’s that smug, self-important tone that’s slathered smoothly over his words. Even over his clothes and his gait. Fucking Eames. The most chivalrous charlatan to roam the land.

“So nice of you to join us,” Arthur quips in the doorway of the kitchen. “We thought maybe you’d dropped dreamshare for a taste of regular life.”

Arthur walked back over to his desk, setting the other glass of water down. He stared at Eames with what could only be described as cool contempt. The forger’s façade never wavered.

“That greeting extends to you too Arthur.”

He’s obnoxiously jovial. Wearing a paisley pink shirt, open just enough to see the beginnings of his tattoos, and his trademark oversized slacks, that leave just enough to the imagination of all that’s sturdy and solid beneath them.

Eames finds an available desk and sets his things down, then pulls up a chair beside Arthur. He leans in towards the pointman’s neck, caught by the curl of his hair there and whispers “Although I see you were itching to replace me for this adventure!”

He lets himself linger just enough to see the pointman bristle. Then goes back to his desk to unpack his briefcase and get started.

Arthur bites his lip in irritation for Eames’ air and disgust at himself for finding the man rather attractive.

* * *

Here’s the thing about Arthur. You could say that he’s taxing, even anal. And you’d be correct. He’s spent his career in dreamshare, hell his life (at home, school and the military) making sure that anything he had responsibility for was done with as much planning and precision as possible.

That meant that he was serious about laying out his school clothes every night before he went to bed. He pushed up the deadline for his high school physics project (a cloud chamber) up by two weeks, just to give himself wiggle room in case his ability to measure the decay of radioactive particles went awry in any way and needed his parents to buy more supplies.

He takes his coffee black with two sugars and a dollop of real cream. And he always has three contingency plans for each dreamshare job because he’s had enough mishaps to know how much money can be lost in the literal blink of an eye. Yes, he’s been accused of having no imagination. By Eames of all people. And while he’s fine with letting that little fallacy run amok in the dreamshare circles, he knows, rests certain in the fact, that it’s not the truth. By any stretch of the…well you get the gist.

You see, our dear Arthur is the oldest of three children; a sister and a brother. And in a perfect world, he would have been allowed to indulge all of his wildest fantasies on the playground and in the woods behind their backyard and anyplace in between that little children are prone to call a kingdom in their naivety. But as fate would have it, Arthur and co were born to two wild, spirited, highly irresponsible parents, who fashioned themselves as hippies even though they were twenty-five years too young to hold that title.

Kani and Echo _(you read that right, Echo!)_ collided in their sophomore year of college at Carnegie Mellon in Pennsylvania and barely finished undergrad before their curiosity and large sexual appetites found them wandering west along I40. Once they landed in Venice Beach California, they decided to bunker for a bit in a cute three bedroom bungalow that belonged to Echo’s parents.

There they smoked weed, tripped on acid, ingested mushrooms and allowed themselves every possible pleasure they could fathom until Kani realized it had been three months since her cycle had come and she was forced to acknowledge that there was a little Mueller on the way _(our darling Arthur)_.

In between many drug trips and temper tantrums the children kept coming and while Kani was prone to staying sober long enough to get her babies into their first year of life, she was too involved with Echo and too jealous of his abject freedom to allow him to indulge solo in the fun for very long.

The whirlwind of parties and orgies and side relationships and subsequent fights morphing into break ups and makeups meant that Arthur and his siblings were shuttled back and forth between their maternal grandparents and home. And as such, by the age of six, Arthur, understanding the chaotic torrent they’d been placed in (without having an adequate vocabulary to describe such), took it upon himself to care for his siblings and shield them from as much upset and confusion as possible. He was their defacto guardian. Even if he himself was technically too young for such a task.

Instead of foraging for rocks and plants or small lizards in the woods, or finding watering holes with his friends where they could take a cool drink on a scorching summer’s day, our Arthur was immersed in reading bedtime stories, giving soothing hugs and kisses in the presence of upset tummies, making up stupid morning ditties that could make his siblings forget the three weeks they’d spent away from their parents as well as the inevitable nightmares that might plop into his sister’s or brother’s heads in their grandparents large, creaky fourth bedroom.

He’d become their Super Brother. And he was determined even in his small compact body, to shield them from the wreck of a marriage that his parents fostered simply for the sake of their sanity. He decided quite early on that they deserved such and they would have it so long as he had breath in his body.

Fortunately for all involved, Kani and Echo seemed to wean themselves of their destructive natures (with nudging from both sets of parentals). Echo returned to school to get a graduate degree in mathematics and begin teaching high school calculus at a local school in Santa Monica. Kani interned for a very lucrative architectural firm in Los Angeles, and after an apprenticeship of sorts was able to carve out an interesting career in the Office of City Planning in downtown LA and then venture off to create *his own firm, Mueller Parvati and Langham, landing contracts for the Getty Museum complex, the private homes of several high profile clients and a new complex meant for the Academy of Arts and Sciences.

This was a momentous event for all four grandparents involved, Kani and Echo, the children and their newly acquired cat, Cinnamon. And while it paved the way for Arthur’s siblings to resume a somewhat normal childhood, ignorant of how flayed things really could have become, it seeded the beginnings of Arthur’s eventual foray into the dreamworld as an architect, a pointman and overall Project Manager. He had an immediate in as far as the world of Architecture was concerned and once he decided to join the Army, it was only natural that he enroll in a newly formed project focused on the Manipulation and Strategic Gathering of Dream Design and Conception.

Arthur channeled all of his lost childhood daydream opportunities into the very real but still scientifically unproven realm of dreams and manifestations. What he may have lost in immediate imagination had been gained in acute adaptation and response in the dreams of strangers, colleagues and eventually clients.

He shakes that stupor off (we’re all allowed a few moments of weakness, yes?) and clears his throat. It’s time to get down to business.


	2. The Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur outlines the specifics of the job.

“So we’re here at the bequest of one Heinrich Auslander…”

Arthur’s standing in front of the team, shirt sleeves rolled up and slightly unbuttoned.

“World famous entrepreneur,” Dom adds.

“Curator of carnal delights…” Ari smirks

“And a deceptively dogged polymath with a penchant for ancient artifacts,” Eames closes out. He’s leaning back in his swivel chair, feet up on the desk which makes the line of his beefy legs look very inviting. Arthur glances quickly at him and then looks back over the group at large. Cocky alpha.

“Precisely.” Arthur answers. He wipes away the perspiration beading at the top of his forehead and opens another button on his shirt.

The warehouse has decent AC, but it can’t properly combat the heat and humidity of the Cairo sun. Thankfully, the building they’re in is surrounded by trees, which shields them from the brunt of Mother Nature’s wrath.

“Now he’s well connected, with enough money to stay abreast of all the current archaeology digs. Word on the street is that a current dig near Abu Simbel has garnered a substantial amount of treasure. Our client is most concerned with an emerald amulet, various crystals and one pure gold Ankh that is said to hold great power.”

“What is he, the German Indiana Jones?” Eames has found a ball of rubber bands and is throwing it up in the air and catching it mindlessly. While continuing to snark. For the sake of general levity or possibly to simply annoy one cool-under-command Arthur. It’s working just a bit.

Arthur doesn’t bother to turn his head. He simply cuts his eyes towards the forger, who is still tossing the rubber band ball to himself, now coupled by grabbing his bottom lip with those crooked teeth, then smirking at an irritated Arthur. _Just take a breath. Breathe. Remain calm. This is just his way._

Anyone who’s spent month in dreamshare knows that this is just how it goes with these two. Eames takes great initiative to push and it’s Arthur who silently volleys the irritation off the walls so he can remain focused on the task at hand.

“Not really a thing we need to concern ourselves with Mr. Eames. But you can query Mr. Auslander about it once all of our checks have cleared…”

That gets a few muffled smirks from the group. Ari slides her chair over to swat Eames on the arm and he quickly disengages her with a wink. Until Hanson decides to pipe up.

“So where and how will you be utilizing my skills exactly?”

Of all the things to encourage his silence (and his wrath), the fact that there’s a second forger (that fastidious Arthur hired simply because Eames was a little tardy due to his previous job) is the bullet point that stings.

“I think what dear Timothy meant to say was our skills. How will you be utilizing _our_ skills. Right Hanson?”

Eames’ lips are formed into a scrumptious smile, but his voice, that deeply gravel-tinged voice has somehow formed spikes around its curves and at any moment, Arthur wouldn’t be surprised to see daggers flying from between those crooked teeth.

“Gentlemen. Can we pipe down and get through the basics before we start parsing out details?” Dom feels it’s his duty to step in before this turns into a dog fight that they can’t handle. Hanson’s an alpha as well, younger and seemingly hungrier than Eames and the job will have to be scrapped if these two have a showdown.

“Thank you Dom,” Arthur offers. “As it turns out, the men responsible for the dig never turned in their find to the Egyptian Archeological Institute. We suspect they’re holding them for safekeeping until they get proper “compensation”. Which is where our forgers, Timothy and Eames will come in.

Arthur maneuvers a few buttons on the laptop in front of him and the picture of a very handsome Arab man appears behind him on a broad white screen.

We believe this man, Karim Semir Tawfiq, to either be involved with or the head of groups that continue to withhold findings from these digs away from the Egyptian government, for a specified ransom based on the interest of prospective collectors and dealers such as our client.

“So you’ll need us to go in and do an extraction?” Hanson queries matter-of-factly. He rises up just enough to sit on the edge of his desk, giving him a height advantage over Eames, who is still reclining in his desk chair.

“Not quite.” Arthur pipes up, cracking the fingers of both his hands and loosening tension in his neck. Even though he’s over jet lag from his flight into Cairo (waiting for Eames gave them all ample time to acclimate to the time change and the weather), he’s noticed a creeping tightness in his joints since this morning. Probably a secondary result of partial dehydration or maybe even taking his meds late.

Or it could be his body’s response to the fight he had with his boyfriend Robert three days ago, when he’d been lamenting about Arthur’s intense work schedule. He’d wanted Arthur to take some time and enjoy a staycation holiday in London where they lived part of the year. Robert was fussy and intense and needy. All things Arthur knew when he signed up to make a go of it with the man. But lately he’d had the nagging feeling that they were off somehow.

He couldn’t, no wouldn’t waste time thinking about all of that now. There’d be plenty of time before this job was complete to sit down and reassess things. He shakes those thoughts off and continues.

“Once we’re certain that Tawfiq or whomever the person is withholding these goods, we’ll also need to create a transaction of sale, forcing them to believe they’ve sold the goods to a buyer and that money has been exchanged.”

“What are you even on about with this sale?” Eames asks, pulling out a tiny envelope from his pocket and sliding a fresh toothpick to the side of his mouth. He’s promised his Mum he would stop smoking and he’s slowed down, really he has. But nothing will completely curb his oral fixation. Especially when he’s in this kind of heat and he’s just noticed the perfectly sculpted curve made by the bottom of Arthur’s pecs. Funky bloke. If he weren’t so tightly wound, he’d actually be attractive.

Dom steps forward now, placing a calming hand on Arthur’s shoulder to ease his obvious agitation. These two are really outwardly hostile with one another. But there’s always a simmering stew of tepid lava threatening to bubble up to the surface.

Dom places his other hand over his mouth and clears his throat before he speaks.

“We need the mark to feel completely certain that he’s made the sale inside the dream, in order to give our client enough time to intercept his desire goods and exit the country without suspicion.”

“So this is a twofer then” Hanson asks, peeking slyly over at Eames as if to justify his presence on the job. Everyone in dreamshare knows by now that Eames is considered a Master Forger. He’s also considered a Master Burglar but those are allegations that INTERPOL and other regional agencies are tasked with confirming.

At 23, Hanson is talented, strategic and most importantly hungry. He’s a solid enough forger. He convinces his marks even though his accent is usually off, his mannerisms too polished and he gets sloppy with details when feeling too sure of himself. Eames has never had the pleasure of working with the youngster before, but he’s heard stories from other teams in the business. Enough to recognize the name and now, attach a smarmy face to it.

Hansen is a tall, dirty blonde with a solid frame, hinting at a childhood sustained by plenty of Midwestern corn and potatoes. Maybe a few stints at Varsity football to convince him that stockiness has its place.

“Something like that,” Dom assures him. “We’ll need to execute this job in two phases to keep the heat off of us and our client. Since we have a larger team than usual, we’ll use that to our advantage so our mark’s projections won’t have a chance to recognize any one of us and jeopardize the plan.

“Well you could have figured out the first portion of this fiasco and completed it before I even arrived,” Eames mocked.

“Actually Mr. Eames,” Arthur chided, “you were delightfully prompt in the end. Careful, considerate colleague that we all know you to be…”

The entire team gets a good chuckle out of that but Eames can’t help but feel his hackles raise at Arthur’s tone. If that wiry, uptight, twinky little twit keeps it up, Eames might have to stop playing nice and put him in his place. In front of everyone.

Eames swallows down the saliva that’s suddenly formed in his throat and bites the insides of his cheeks as a way to ground himself. He yanks his legs from atop the desk placing them firmly in front of him on the floor and lengthens his spine, broadening his body even though he has yet to stand.

“I only ever aim to please you, darling” he hisses sarcastically. When that gets a verbal reaction from the team he winks seductively at Arthur, an act he knows for sure will get under the bugger’s skin, then twirls the toothpick between two fingers.

His eyes never leave Arthur’s. It’s a silent dare; a challenge. And he’s happy to see the slight scowl that appears on Arthur’s face. Top lip slightly curled, eyebrows raised, nostrils flared and a wiry vein on the left side of his neck pulsing with what must assuredly be a rise in his blood pressure.

“What would please me most is for you take this job, or any job we work together, seriously.”

Arthur looks back at Eames from slightly hooded eyelids, accepting his challenge and no longer caring if it’s disrupting the energy of the room.

“What Arthur meant to say,” Dom interrupts, placing his body between the view of the two men, who actually seem like children at this particular moment, “is that our chemist Yusuf called to say there would be a delay in his delivery of somnacin. Something about a shortage of certain ingredients at a premium cost. He’ll be making the delivery personally sometime this weekend. So between now and then we can prep for the first half of this job.”

“Well I for one will be happy to get out of this stuffy warehouse and into the city. I’m itching for some new ideas to get this build going!”

Ari was the most excited team member. But that’s only because she wasn’t bogged down in any tests of manhood. One of the very reasons she preferred to be the only woman on the job (if she could help it).


	3. In the Interim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames and Arthur wind down from the day. Eames connects with Yusuf as soon as he gets to town.

When he gets back to his room, on the highest floor of their hotel Eames is restless and horny and hopes he hasn’t used the last of his lube before he has to locate a store where he can discreetly make a purchase.

He longingly looks at his own personal PASIV machine and then realizes he’s gone through the last vial of somnacin he lifted from Yusuf’s flat the last time he spent any real time in Mombasa. He’s not lonely per se, but he his longing. He’d rather meet Dee in their perfect beach bungalow than troll the streets trying to find an acceptable partner; who won’t try to steal his money or accuse him of unsavory affairs when the sun rises.

He takes a nice hot, then cold shower, turns on a bit of useless British telly, gives his prick a nice healthy wank til he comes then cleans himself up, brushes his teeth and goes to bed.

Arthur on the other hand, orders a steak frites dinner from the restaurant downstairs, wolfs it down mindlessly, then returns to his room, gnawing on his fingernails wondering if he should reach out to Robert or wait another day or two.

Unbeknownst to all of his colleagues, Arthur is a man of many secrets. Not that there’s anyone poking around in his life as far as he can tell. His closest confidantes were always Mal and Dom and after Mal, well once Dom was left alone with two children in the care of his father-in-law, it was clear that Arthur had no choice but to follow him around the world, working jobs and simultaneously crafting a plan to allow him to clear his name and make it back home again.

So of course, Dom knows him the best out of anyone in dreamshare. His closest working relationships are Ari and Eames. Ari, because they actually work very well as teammates and he’s been able to share the craft of architecture with her while updating his own skills.

And Eames? Ugh. He rolls his eyes when he thinks about the man. He’s a posh Brit, pretending to be chav and he loves to let his facial hair grow askew and let strands of the hair on his hair go awry but he’s a damn fine forger and improvisation is his first name. He’s saved Arthur and Ari, even Dom a few times and would never throw it in their faces. One area where he’s much too polite.

But dammit if he isn’t the oil to Arthur’s water. Determined to be contrary and obstinate when he knows damn well that Arthur just wants to cover all bases and provide an excellent service for their client. He taunts Arthur, teases him, calling him pet names that imply them having a much closer relationship than they do. It rankles Arthur down to his bones. Eames is an Alpha. Everyone in dreamshare knows that. Hell, half of London probably does too. He’s rarely ever one to flaunt his brutish strength or harm others physically. He simply lets his sarcastic tongue do the work for him. If he knew more of Arthur’s secrets, Arthur would absolutely be mortified to have to work with him. But thankfully, Arthur is safe in that department.

* * *

Yusuf’s flight gets in the next night and since they’re best mates, he texts Eames, who’d offered up his spare bed at the hotel. Eames picks him up from the airport and they find a nearby in which to have a drink and catchup on life, away from the rest of the team.

They sit comfortably at the bar, Yusuf’s luggage between them, and order pints of dark lager. They’re ice cold and rich with plenty of creamy froth on top. It reminds Eames of England somehow and he takes a nice long sip after settling in.

“So what’s new back home?” Eames inquired. Home, of course, meaning Mombasa. He hasn’t lived in London in several years now.

Yusuf wipes foam from his upper lip.

“Lucky’s Casino’s been closed down temporarily because of gamblers counting cards. Said got busted selling spiked weed, seven people overdosed in one weekend, And Jasmine’s had to go underground because someone couldn’t keep their mouths shut about the extra services they were getting after their massages. You know, the usual.”

Even though his introduction to Yusuf had been smoking weed, illegal dice games and lifting cars from valet parking spots, Eames was happy they’d become such fast friends and had actually remained so as they grew, using their skills elsewhere in the world as adults.

“Ahhh, I wouldn’t expect anything less out of the old White and Blue. It’ll be nice to get back there when I’m done with this job,” he admitted.

He missed the casinos, having his pick of the top escorts around and Yusuf’s creative hallucinatory cocktails. Things that mind occupied enough to keep _other_ thoughts from worming their way to the forefront.

“Speaking of which…,” Eames turned towards Yusuf “why in the bloody hell did you run out of somnacin, mate?

“Well…we source one of our main components from a large farm outside of Coffee Bay…”

Eames eyes glaze over a bit and he hums as he assesses.

“South Africa, right?”

“Yep. Eastern Cape,” Yusuf affirms.

“Anyways, they’re our main supplier, always have done. But it seems someone found time to set fire to 120 acres of plants, pretty much destroying the upcoming crops. Which meant I had to scramble with some most unsavory characters to find comparable components that would suffice.”

“Sounds like half a dozen flights all over mate,” Eames answered in sympathy.

“More than that,” Yusuf grimaces. “Had to use me special funds I was saving for that week of debauchery in Jamaica. Back and forth from Southeast Asia to the middle East.”

Yusuf huffs, just long enough to pull three small vials from his pocket and place them on the bar in front of Eames. ”Better be nice to me mate. I was able to save these from the last batch.”

Eames goes quiet for just a moment. Rubbing his fingers on the sides of his pint glass and then glancing at Yusuf contemplatively. He sweeps the vials up in his other hand, swiftly dropping them into the pocket of his slacks. Then he takes another swig of beer to quench his this.

“Much obliged for your generosity,” he answers, nodding his head in thanks.

They drink in silence for a few moments, staring at all of the thick glass bottles of various spirits sitting in front of them waiting to be consumed.

“Still taking trips down under?” Yusuf inquires. He gives Eames the respect of looking forward as he probes his friend. He knows it’s a sensitive subject.

“Yeah.” Eames pauses for a long while, considering his words carefully. “It’s better than therapy sessions with a complete stranger. At least for now.”

“If you ever need to talk, I’ll light up with you and help you sort it out.”

Eames chuckles into his glass. Who the hell is Yusuf trying to fool? He’d light up as a celebration of the rising sun. No special moment needed. Still, he appreciates his friend’s support. They’ve had each other’s back from the streets of Brixton, to Paris, Greece and now Mombasa. Their mates for life.

“I may take you up on that when I get back;”

Suddenly now, Eames is itching for the privacy of his hotel room, with his own private PASIV and enough spare time to sort out his feelings and physical needs in more constructive ways.


	4. On to the Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames meets an old love, Arthur keeps the peace in his relationship and the team proceeds with their job.

It’s the afternoon, and they’re lying there. Naked, on an obnoxiously large bed underneath a ceiling fan. Eames is flat on his back and Deidre’s curled up towards him. There’s jazz playing in the background and the smell of fresh lavender coming from the window. She sighs as he gently strokes her back and he thinks that this is the best place to be. The only place he wants to be in the world.

Deidre shifts down just a bit so her head lays on Eames’ chest. She lightly strokes his abs and giggles as he jolts from the shock. He’s ticklish there but she’s allowed to touch.

“What are you thinking about?” she gently asks.

“Football.” He answers.

“Football?” She raises her head now, eyeing him suspiciously.

“Yes, love. It’s been ages since I’ve watched a proper Arsenal game. And here I am wasting away my time entangled with you…”

She swats at him in consternation. “You’re an ass,” she responds.

He keeps his face straight until they both end up laughing. After a quiet moment he pulls her up gently for a kiss.

“Remember that summer we spent in Mallorca, when I designed clothes and you painted with your mentor?”

“When I swore I’d be better, wilder, bluer than Picasso?” Eames offered.

“Yep. That was almost as nice as this…”

He loved her when she teased him. She was all flirty-eyed with a half smile and she knew that he loved it.

“That was absolutely better than this!”

“Oh really? How!” she objected.

“Because…” He turned towards her, cradling her face in his hands. _That’s when you were truly real and I could take you three times a day and still go for more_ , he wanted to say.

He should have said. But there was no need to quarrel here in the dreamspace. This was the one place he could find peace.

“…because that’s where I fell madly in love with you. And designed this house for us to share…”

Both those things were utterly true too. Not nearly as true as the first thought, though.

He bent down towards her and enveloped her in a kiss. Feeling his loins stir, yet again.

* * *

“Arthur, you’ve been working non-stop since Easter and all I’m asking is that you plan some kind of vacation with me.”

Arthur’s phone is on the dresser in front of him. He’s put Robert on speakerphone so he can finish dressing for the day. While they argue.

“Rob, I’m not averse to a vacation. Let alone with you. But, we’re in the middle of a job here. That’s quite complicated I might add. And I have a massive headache…”

“Oh yeah, your infamous migraines. The ones you conveniently get in the mornings when I want to fuck.” _That’s a low blow, even for Rob. And he knows it._

Arthur finishes buttoning up his dress shirt, grabs his tie from the closet and swings it around his neck. It’s a beautiful silk tie with a blue and gold gradient that Robert gave him last Christmas. He didn’t trust Rob’s fashion sense most of the time, but when he open this gift that cold morning, he was impressed with his man enough to indulge him in three rounds of sex. They were invariably late for Rob’s family dinner. But their skin glowed through the entire meal.

“Look. When I’m done with this job. When the money gets wired and I’m back safely in the city, we can discuss all kinds of options for vacation. I’ll even leave my calendar open for the next two months. How’s that?”

Robert tends to be the more of emotional, sensitive one of the two. If Arthur weren’t taking his meds, that would be a completely different story. But it’s nothing he has to worry about now. All he knows is that he and Dom have worked relentlessly for their client and he simply doesn’t have time to argue with his boyfriend. Who’s halfway round the world, trying to pick a fight.

“You don’t sound excited Arthur."

"It’s 6:30 in the morning and lightning bolts are piercing my brain. I don’t have to sound excited.”

“Fine. I’ll talk to you later.”

“I’ll call you when I have some down time.”

“Yea. Whatever.”

Robert slams the phone down on his end for emphasis which makes Arthur grimace and stop tying his tie. This relationship has been good for the most part, but managing his emotions along with his boyfriend’s has been somewhat of a challenge. Is it so wrong to want some part of his life to run smoothly? To be effortless? Sometimes he’s tired of having to dissect every little piece of a thing and consider all of the angles.

* * *

After eating a bowl of fruit and taking his usual coffee coupled with Ibuprofen, Arthur sends for a car to get him to the warehouse. Ariadne and Yusuf are already there. Dom, Eames and Hanson were the ones chosen to go out into the market _(market being an extremely loose term)_ to locate, follow and kidnap their mark.

Ariadne is sitting at her desk, laptop open and phone at the ready, in case “the boys” run into any trouble and need Arthur’s help. Yusuf’s sitting on the edge of the desk, talking a bit too quietly with the young Architect. Arthur hadn’t worked with either of them much since Inception. Now he was wondering if there were signals he’d somehow missed.

“Morning you two,” he says clearing his throat. Yusuf immediately stands up ready to shake Arthur’s hand and Ariadne smooths down her hair.

“Good to see you Arthur. How are things?” Yusuf asks eagerly.

Even though he’s not out in the field as much, he’s always in touch with the dreamshare teams. Arthur usually interacts with him online these days.

“Oh you know. A little espionage here, a little search and seizure there…” Arthur begins.

“…and a big bit of kidnapping to keep things extremely interesting!” Eames groans as the door opens.

Dom’s holding the door as Eames and Hanson carry in the ethanol-induced body of Karim Semir Tawfiq. He’s as tall as they knew he was but somehow a lot more slender than his pictures conveyed. Arthur approaches the two to give them a hand and help move him over to a sturdy lounge chair they’ve maintained just for this occasion.

“Are you sure he’s the target we need?” Arthur asks.

“We’re almost 94.5% certain,” Eames quips.

“But we’ll know for sure once we get into his mind won’t we?” Hanson interjects.

“Yes we will,” Dom assures them. “Speaking of which, we have exactly 37 minutes before Mr. Tawfiq becomes fully conscious of his situation and chooses to handle us in a harsh manner. So could every one please get to collect themselves and get to their chairs. Yusuf will be with us for the next couple of days, so he’ll administer the somnacin and I’ll awake just for today, in case anything goes awry last minute.”

Yusuf steps forward with his PASIV case and a bottle of said formula in his hand. Arthur notices Ariadne looking up at him with the hint of a smile on her face. _Sly bastard._

“Heyo friends. We had a little glitch in the chemistry lab due to some unfortunate events but I’m happy to say I have plenty of somnacin for you now. My lab rats are replicating back in Kenya so there’ll be plenty for my dreamshare clients from here on out. Let’s get you strapped in and ready to go.”

They roll up their shirt sleeves as necessary and lie down on their respective chairs. Eames somehow manages to be in the chair just next to Arthur and he winks at the pointman as Yusuf slides the needle into his forearm. Yusuf’s set up allows him to administer a multi-pronged dose of sommacin to them simultaneously, so there’s not a long lag between its efficacy for any one person.

Arthur winces slightly as the needle pierces his skin and slides into his veins. Several people are talking to Yusuf and he’s saying something back, but Arthur doesn’t hear them because he’s already prepping mentally for what’s to come. He lets his head loll backwards as the fluid moves into his veins. It’s cold, always so cold, but this time it stings slightly. Arthur doesn’t have enough time to worry about that because the last thing he sees is Eames watching him, winking as his eyelids become too heavy to stay open. _It’s just my luck_ …are his last conscious thoughts.

Since she’s the least involved initially, the team decided that the first level would belong to Ariadne. And now that she’s become more subtle with her tremendous talents she creates Karim’s favorite hookah bar on the North side of the city. Timothy Hanson will forge as one of Heinrich Auslander’s competitors, Ariadne will be his assistant, Arthur will serve as Hanson’s accountant and Eames will forge as a well known executive at the Bank of Cairo, where they’ll eventually end up to finalize the “transaction”.

Although not one to indulge in any kind of smoking, Arthur actually finds the hookah spot cozy. There are large, plush circular sofas with solid wooden surfaces in the middle where they can rest their hook pipes and any beverages or light snacks they order from the menu.

They’ve procured a table in the back and are just settling in with Tawfiq to discuss the details of examination and exchange of the treasure, when the first wave of it strikes Arthur out of nowhere.

He’s wearing a three piece summer suit from Burberry, so the cloth is lighter than his usual get ups. But he might as well be wearing a wool coat, because the way the fever hits him, causing sweat to immediately spring to his forehead, making his skin itch uncontrollably and forcing him to down a full glass of water in just a few gulps to quench his insistent thirst is enough to get the attention of the other team members.

His first thought is for the job of course. Sweat usually signifies nervousness to marks. Marks, being just left of the law equate nervousness with suspicion. And this can induce a literal flight response. So the last thing they need is for Tawfiq to sniff out any possible sign that things aren’t completely kosher.

He excuses himself to go to the bathroom and splash several rounds of cold water on his face. Using some of it to slick his hair back in place. He’s getting lightheaded and wondering if he’s reacted badly to something in their beverages.

Arthur goes back to join them and seems fine for a bit. Until it’s time for them to go one level deeper to take Tawfiq to the Bank of Cairo. By now Arthur has run in the opposite direction on the street, shedding his suit jacket, his vest and opening the buttons of his dress shirt, rolling up his sleeves.

He’s dripping with sweat, on his forehead, his chest, even at his underarms. And although he can’t see it, he knows his skin is deeply flushed. He’s itchy and dizzy and is suddenly desperate for someone to rub ice cubes all over his body. He starts running, not at his fastest pace but speedily enough to get him away from his team members and onto a side street where locals won’t care enough to pay him any attention.

He doesn’t want to do it. But he realizes what this is. And he truly won’t be of any help to the team if this continues on.

He slips into an alley, removing the gun he wears from its holster and removing the safety. Dream deaths are never any fun. But this is the quickest route to the surface and sanity and the privacy of his hotel room. So he takes a few deep breaths, points the gun to his temple and presses the trigger. The last crumbs of his consciousness register a familiar voice calling after him. But it’s too late for him to respond.


	5. Are You Okay?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames leaves the team to check up on Arthur.

“Arthur? Arthur? You okay in there?”

By the time Eames is firmly in front of Arthur’s door, knocking, he can hear moans and can smell a faintly sweet scent. He feels his nipples harden, the tiny hairs on his forearms poke quickly into the air. There’s no denying what’s happening to the man inside.

“Arthur!”

Eames knocks forcefully several more times on the door. His heartbeat quickened by the aroma permeating his senses and the evidence of his own need pushing against his slacks. Blood courses swiftly through his veins, leaving his upper extremities to settle into his lower ones.

Even with as much sex as he’s afforded on a regular basis, Eames wants to laugh at himself. It’s been…quite a while since he’s encountered a true omega. He’s forgotten what this feels like, what it does to him and how pleasurable that experience can be.

Omegas are rare in the world. So much so, that they usually get snatched up by eager Alphas early on in life, mating, bonding and often giving birth by the time they reach twenty or so. Some omegas suppress their cycles for a time, to allow them to safely complete their educations and live and travel in the world a bit before settling down. That’s common knowledge among their kind even if it is unspoken.

But very few omegas choose to work in high profile positions requiring their constant energy and attention for long stretches of time. Their biological mechanisms require that they have a week or two out of their cycles to focus solely and primarily on their need. And this doesn’t mesh well with a capitalistic society hell bent on producing, performing and extracting revenue at an inhuman and incessant pace.

Eames has slept with a lot of men and women. But the only omega he’s been with, the only one he’s been bonded to was Deidre. His love, his anchor. He aches, even now, when he thinks about her, because being with her wasn’t a choice. It was an imperative. His body literally pushed to meet her, woo her, mate and then bond with her. There’d been no second guessing, no pondering over motives or imperatives. He’d been driven to act and nothing and no one could stop him until he’d made her his own.

He doesn’t understand, can’t truly fathom why he’s getting similar feelings now. Except for the fact that his body is making a command that he can’t seem to deny.

“Arthur…please!”

Still no answer. Only more moaning, in what he imagines are truly crumpled sheets right now. Is Arthur writhing around on the bed, clothed and unable to stand. Is he flushed with fever, grimacing with eyes closed, trying to stave off his symptoms. Is he naked on the bed, back flat to the mattress, taut legs spread inelegantly, sucking one finger between those judgmental lips while he breaches his hole with his other hand? The image, the thought, the thrill of it is too much for Eames to bare.

The reptilian part of his consciousness tells him to simply kick the door in like a fucking caveman and take the bounty inside. The more astute and rational part of his conscience says that while momentarily pleasurable and satisfying, that that directive would not only sever his amicable relationship with the pointman forever, but it would assuredly constitute rape, with which he could be charged and arrested. And rightfully so.

He bangs again. This time a little too loud, probably. He doesn’t want to alert any nearby occupants of what’s going on, but he’s also still concerned for Arthur and determined to…

“You alright in there? Arthur? Arthur. Just…let me in so we can talk. I promise, we can just talk and then I’ll leave you al-…”

He’s surprised to hear a click as the door’s unlocked and then movement at the knob as it rotates from inside and the door is flung wide. By now Eames has an elbow tented against the right side of the door frame. He’s chewing on his thumbnail with his body askew, legs parted widely enough that he can’t hide the way his dick is now tenting his slacks. He swallows nervously when his eyes rise from the middle of the space where the door just was and rise to meet Arthur’s.

Arthur looks a mess. His ungelled hair is askew all over his head, a mixture of curls and defiantly straight tufts of hair sticking out at errant angles. His clothes (a white Hanes t-shirt and a pair of navy boxers) are completely crumpled, wrinkles everywhere and blotched with sweat stains. His eyebrows are arched at an angle signaling irritation and disgust. Classic Arthur. He wouldn’t expect anything less. But his eyes? Those slightly slanted, coffee-colored orbs that usually convey an acute focus and strategic intelligence, now seem tinged with hints of arousal and exhaustion. He’s never seen this side of Arthur before. It’s foreign to him. And completely intriguing. He wants in.

They stand there in silence just for a few seconds. Then Eames thinks to get out of his own head and finally speak.

“Wanted to check in on you, since you left the team early and didn’t seem like-…”

“Just come in Eames,” Arthur sighs, stepping back to open the door wider, allowing for his entrance.

Arthur peeks his head out, looking left and right, to see if anyone has opened up their door on the floor. Thankfully, no one appears. Which means they don’t care enough to know why someone was banging on his door in the middle of the day He shuts and locks the door behind him, then wipes his hand down his face and turns back towards Eames.

“Arthur,” Eames says softly. He’s looking at the bed. It’s as wrecked as he suspected it would be. Comforter flung back, sheets crumpled into a vague Arthur-like form and the air, smelling strongly now of sweltering omega need.

“What Eames? What? What do you want?” Arthur’s angry. But more than that he’s frustrated and hot, his skin prickling everywhere the air touches it. He wants a drink of water, he wants to lie down, he might even want to throw up right now. He’s not sure. There’s sweat at the back of his neck, his throat is dry and his Alpha coworker Eames is here at the most horrible time ever. He walks over to the bed and sits down on the edge, one leg fidgeting restlessly.

“The team was, we’re worried about you.” Eames offers up. It’s not entirely untrue. They were surprised by his rash behavior, leaving a meeting suddenly without excuse or pause. But they eventually chalked it up to an Arthur anachronism.

Eames relented to Hanson taking over the weight of forging for the rest of the dream. He made up some excuse about needing to get back to Dom and the team wasn’t any the wiser. Thank God for competent professionals and heavy workloads serving as distractions. If they only knew.

“Well as you can see,” Arthur huffs audibly, “I’m just fine. Never better.”

He looks up at Eames in disgust as if he’s violated some sort of code he was unaware of. It doesn’t completely disarm him. But it does alert him to how careful he must now be with every word.

“You don’t look fine to me. You look like you could use a ton of water, maybe a bite to eat even…”

“I’m fine Eames,” Arthur’s raising his voice now. Sweat beads pop up on his forehead and he doesn’t even bother to wipe them off. “I’m just a little sick right now.” He says clearing his throat.

“Arthur, you’re not sick. You’re in…” Eames reaches out to gently touch him on the shoulder and Arthur darts off the bed, bolting for the bathroom.

“I said I’m fine Eames. Fuck!”

Arthur goes inside, quickly turning on the faucet, sloppily splashing water on his face as a way to cool down and wash away the simultaneous annoyance he’s feeling at anyone seeing him right now, let alone hot ass Eames. Why is this happening right now Lord, WHY?

“You’re not fine Arthur. You’re going into heat. I could smell you before the elevator doors opened.” Eames is there at the bathroom door staring at him and Arthur doesn’t even have to look up to know. He can feel the forger’s stare boring into the back of his head like an electronic drill. If his head were to open and split right now all the Englishman would find inside would be a sloppy brain jumbled by the nervous thoughts of uncomfortable sweat, failed suppressants, his body’s betrayal and the thought of sex. Wet, messy, irreverent sex. Getting his hole pounded eight ways from Sunday until he melts into a puddle on the floor and slides down the drain, away from everyone’s purview.

Arthur dares to look at Eames in the mirror. Forcing himself to look into those hazel eyes that make his stomach flip upside down.

“Well great. That’s just great.” He pumps some soap into his hands and washes them never letting his gaze fall.

“Now you and God knows how many other Alphas out there can smell me as I go into a heat I never planned on having. I’ve been taking suppressants that somehow decided to stop working today. While I’m in the middle of a job that’s in play.”

Arthur wipes his hands on his sweaty T-shirt and stalks back into the room, so he can stare out of the window. Eames follows behind him, stopping a little ways away so as not to be too inappropriate. He’s concerned but no less aroused.

“I’ve already smoothed things over with Dom. He’s gone under to handle the team. You don’t need to worry.”

Eames is trying to maintain his cool. Trying to be a decent bloke right now, yeah? Everything inside of him is telling him pounce. His dick is throbbing if he can’t touch the omega right in front of him, he’d at least like to be able to touch himself and relieve some of the pressure.

“I’m not worried.” Arthur counters.

“Then what? What do you need right now?” Eames is asking sincerely. With the smallest bit of himself that has remained English and proper. The part overriding all of his other sensibilities.

Arthur’s hands swipe at the bottom of this tee shirt. He raises it quickly, crossing his arms to pull it up over his head and then fling it on the far corner of the desk to the floor.

His torso is beautiful, Eames thinks. He’s long and wiry, not too thin. He’s solidly built in a deceptively compact way and now that the cooler air of the room is hitting his skin, his nipples shrink down into tight buds that Eames wants to hold in his mouth. There’s saliva building all around his tongue. He swallows to force it down instead of doing something else.

Arthur considers a few cars going by on the street alongside a man pulling a mule with a cart of fruit behind it. The man is covered almost head to toe in protective cotton fabric that Arthur knows shields him comfortably from the Egyptian sun, but only serves to stoke his own inner heat a few degrees more. It’s unbearable.

“Food would be nice, water even better. But what I need right now Mr. Eames,” Arthur says turning around to face him, “is to be deeply and properly fucked. “Know anyone that can help me?” Arthur teases.

Eames stands still for a moment, gazing at the point man. The butterflies inside the core of his stomach are fluttering at hummingbird speed now. The periphery of the room has contracted to the few feet surrounding him and Arthur.

He’s certain there’s a damp spot in his boxers where the precum of his prick has just seeped through. Because this might be the hottest directive he’s heard in quite some time.

Arthur flicks the waistband of his boxers down just enough to set his dick free. At any other moment, in any other circumstance, he would be absolutely petrified at his behavior. But he’s been suffering for the last couple of hours. And as much as he wants to judge himself for this moment, his body demands that he rectify the problem immediately.

So he stands there, red cock rigid as all get out, moisture beading at the top, while wetness pools at the entrance between his legs and his scent wafts upwards and out. The Alpha standing in front of him certainly notices and appreciates it.

The sight of his dick, thick and angry, popping firmly against Arthur’s abs is what pushes Eames’ animal from its stillness. He comes up to the point man, one hand yanking Arthur’s boxers further down, the other forcefully yanking his head back by his hair so he can scent and then nibble at the enticing flesh of his neck.

Eames tastes salt and cologne on Arthur, in addition to his raw, exquisite scent. He can feel the pulse of blood at his jugular, feels the heat rising off his skin and can’t help himself when he rubs his own erection against Arthur’s ass skating his fingers along the point man’s chest until he feels a pert nipple begging to be pinched. Arthur gasps to his delight and when his own cock jerks in response he knows it’s time to yank the curtains closed so they can get down to business.

“Arthur,” Eames is gasping, trying to contain himself “take your fucking clothes off.”

Arthur’s over halfway there. And he didn’t really need that little nudge. But something about the bass in Eames’ voice finds him yielding to instruction. Well, that and his surging hormones reacclimating him to a status he’d conveniently been able to forget for the last several years.

He frees himself of his boxers and goes back to the bed, this time leaning against the headboard so he can watch Eames strip while lazily stroking his dick.

Eames toes off his leather shoes, unclasping the buttons of his shirt and unzipping out of his slacks with an ease that will later surprise him. He likes his clothes slightly baggy for many reasons, one of which is that they prove surprisingly easy to discard when his adrenaline is racing at such a pace.

“Jesus Arthur,” he growls lasciviously. The sight of the point man rubbing circles over the glistening head of his member brings Eames’ prick to a level of hardness that could launch a bloody rocketship.

Outside of his trips to see Dee with the PASIV, it’s actually been a long, long time since he’s wanted to fuck someone with this level of enthusiasm. Yes, he’s an Alpha and of course, he had needs. But he never in a million years thought he’d discover that Arthur was an Omega and that he’d have a chance to bed the grumpiest, most sarcastic, yet qualified member of dreamshare he’s ever known. It wouldn’t be fair to say that Eames has had a crush on Arthur. Simply that his attractiveness and suitability were duly noted and tucked away in a file he liked to think of as _“Ain’t Happenin’, So Why Bother Bruv?”_

Once he’s fully naked, he stands there at the side of the bed, flexing quadriceps and abs, licking his lips. He doesn’t know why he’s still staring. Is he nervous? No. Stunned? Yeah, kinda, maybe. Paralyzed. Not at all pet. _Just lettin’ the blood flow through me veins before I disintegrate right here on the carpet._

“Eames…” Arthur moans. His cheeks are now flushed like a berry. There’s a sheen of sweat glistening over his forehead and his neck. What were recent curls on his hair have now flattened out into thick wavy tendrils of hair. When Eames notices the length of his eyelashes, the way they frame his eyes making him appear like a doe, he pounces.

Suddenly he’s on the bed, straddling the slighter man’s thighs with his own, his penis seeking friction as he places a hand on Arthur’s cheek and gently kisses him on the mouth. Arthur’s lips part as if he’s about to say something, and Eames waits for just a second until he realizes no comment is coming. He lets his tongue lick along Arthur’s sturdy lips, until the point man opens them up and then he thrusts his tongue inside, eager to tease and taste.

Arthur hummmsssss in satisfaction as he receives Eames’ tongue, amazed that this is happening, enjoying the smoky flavor of the man. He lets his own tongue press, prod and twist against the forger’s, arching his back, as a thick sturdy hand loosely clasps his neck, then caresses collar and pecs, teasing a sensitive nipple.

Eames bends down to take the darkened nub into his mouth. Arthur lets loose a moan, releasing his cock and using both hands to palm Eames’ high round ass pulling the forger as close to him at this angle as humanly possible. At this point, the situation is slippery and slick and they simultaneously groan at the sensation of their cocks sliding together, leaking together, cut member meeting uncut.

Eames doesn’t flinch at all. He gathers some of the wetness from his own member massaging it in his palm before daring to grasp both of them in his hand and stroke stroke them together.

“Nnnggnnnn,” Arthur groans “that feels so fucking-“

“Good?” Eames answers. Moving away from the point man’s mouth long enough to answer his statement. He plunges his tongue back into the man’s mouth with vigor. Arthur’s heat radiates the room, spreading his cinnamon sweet fragrance everywhere. It might be the warmest dinner invitation Eames has ever had.

Arthur breaks the kiss, to take a glance down at their two members, marveling at the site.

“Shit Eames, this feels sooo fucking good.”

Arthur bucks up into his fist, wetness seeping from his cock and his hole, not caring about either one. His focus is on the seal of Eames’ large warm hand wrapped around him tight enough that he’s sure he can come just like this. Even if it’s not ideal, who wouldn’t want to come with such a beautiful broad man hovering over him.

Somehow Eames realizes this possibility as well. He abruptly stops, causing Arthur to moan in disappointment. He rubs his nose against Arthur’s, the sweat from his forehead mingling with Arthur’s as well giving them a quick moment to stare into each other’s eyes.

“Turn over me pet. Gonna ease you open and slip inside,” Eames growls.


	6. Give It To Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames and Arthur come together.

Eames backs away a bit, catching his breath and wiping his forehead, while Arthur steadies himself for just a moment before flipping over onto all fours, grabbing ahold of the headboard, rching his ass high into the air, exposing himself fully to his colleague.

He’s thirsty and still sweating and he should be grimacing at the fact that his coworker is seeing him like this. But right now Arthur doesn’t give a rat’s ass about what he’s supposed to be feeling. He doesn’t even care about what he’ll feel a few hours from now. All he knows is that his skin is irritated, like a dull itch one gets the moment allergy season arrives. There’s an ache deep in his nether regions; a place he can’t logically reach even if he tries to penetrate himself. And it needs to be tended to.

“Eames. Oh shit.” He groans shaking his head back and forth.

“Right here now darling. What is it you need?”

“Please. Please fuck me Eames. I need you inside me.”

“Just a moment love.” Eames hops off of the bed scrambling around the room until he finally asks.

“Your lube?”

“On the other dresser. In the top drawer. Shit. Hurry Eames!”

Arthur’s writhing around like an alley cat. Rotating his hips until he finally finds an undulating rhythm that makes Eames leak a bit onto the floor.

He retreives the lube and makes his way back to the bed, settling solidly behind Arthur. He clicks the tube open without even looking and pulls one of Arthur’s ass cheeks to the side. Eames moans at the site of that puckered pink hole with wetness already sliding down.

“Already so wet. You’re a blessed tease darling.”

Eames generously pours some lube onto his hand, taking care to coat his dick then massaging the rest along his fingers before gently inserting a forefinger inside Arthur’s bumhole. He grins at the automatic clench there.

“Ahhhhhh Eames,” Arthur whispers. This was what he needed. Well not exactly this. But they were moving in the right direction. He was wet enough already, but he appreciated the forger taking a moment just to test and feel how well he responded.

Arthur let his hands fall to the bed, lengthening his arms so he can prop himself up and leaning back into Eames’ touch. If this were a regular session of sex, he’d need a lot more warm-up, a lot more touch to get him ready. But since his body’s chosesn betray him, he realizes there may not even be enough friction inside once Eames finally enters him.

Eames is moving his finger swiftly now, gliding into his cavity with enough ease that he offers Arthur a second finger as a reward.

“Eames…

“Yes.?”

His thick fingers are moving in and out, in and out until Eames tests the waters by spreading them apart into a V, pushing against Arthur’s walls.

“Mmmmm s’good.”

“But…?”

“I want more. I need – so much more,” Arthur gasps

Eames bends down slightly to gnaw at the tender skin on Arthur’s ass.

“You smell so sodding good, darling. If I’d known this is what you’re giving, I’d have fucked you eons ago.”

The hairs of his beard tickle and itch Arthur’s flesh simultaneously and he feels a sliver of electricity surge from his taint all the way to his chest. His balls tighten at the sound of Eames’ voice. He can’t help but wonder if the forger’s range can get any lower or seductive.

“Eames, come on. Stop playing and fuck me.”

Eames has a mind to try out three fingers, but the desperate sound of Arthur’s voice, the way he’s writhing at his touch, the way his smell makes Eames dizzy is signal enough. He removes his fingers, steadying Arthur with his hands and with the other hand, rubs his cock between the point man’s cheeks.

“Eames!” Arthur demands. “Come on, PLEASE!”

At that instant, Eames lines his cock up with Arthur’s hole and slowly pushes in. The guttural response Arthur gives almost enough to make Eames come right then and there. Hee steels himself, determined to draw out pleasure for the both of them before their release.

He pushes his dick steadily through one tight ring of muscles then another, until he’s reached his limit. Balls flush against Arthur’s ass. His flesh grips Eames’ cock like a vise making him moan.

He bends over the point man sliding his face into Arthur’s neck and reprimands him.

“You asked for it love. Here it is.”

And with that Eames begins moving, moderately at first and then as Arthur squirms and grunts beneath him he takes up a punishing pace. Grabbing onto Arthur’s hips, not caring if his grip is too tight or demanding. He slams his dick inside Arthur again and again, just now realizing he’s forgotten to use a condom, understanding that it’s too late to correct that, following his body’s imperative to plunge itself into Arthur’s ass again and again and again.

Arthur, finally being filled, finally getting the deepest parts of his body stroked in a way he can never do for himself, adjusts to Eames’ rhythm, locating the counterpoint so he can slam back against Eames at the exact moment Eames plunges forward. The sensation inside him is delectable. He knew the forger was a good lay, but he had no idea it would feel like this: forceful, greedy, demanding and satiating.

“You feel so fucking good Eames. Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

Arthur’s moaning, grumbling, releasing some words audibly and grunting out nonsense in between. He needs this. He wants it. And Eames is determined to give it to him.

Ever curious, Eames arches back just a bit so he can see where he’s driving home into Arthur, see the lubrication slide around his dick onto the outer rim of Arthur’s hole. He likes how his his balls freely smack against Arthur, with an audible crackle that lights up his spine.

He cocks one leg up to his side, letting planting his foot directly on the bed, to give himself leverage and a new angle. And that’s when it happens. The head of him glides over the small solid bump of Arthur’s prostate and he jerks uncontrollably losing his rhythm, almost knocking Eames out of him.

“OHMYGODEAMES! Fuuuuucccccck” Arthur screams out. It’s loud and uncouth and he’s sure a few people on the floor just heard it, but Eames doesn’t care because he’s determined to draw this out. Make this session good for both of them.

“Sorry there love. Didn’t mean to catch you off guard,” Eames apologizes.

He doesn’t really mean that. Except in sense that if he had more time, he’d be more strategic with his movements.

Arthur takes in a deep cavern of air. He begins to laugh-sob, moving his head back and forth. Arching his back even further and craning his neck upwards in the throes of all of these sensations.

Eames adjusts the angle of his dick so it doesn’t hit that spot so forcefully and they’re able to resume their rhythm. The grip of Arthur’s walls are pulling him closer and closer to the edge. He knows Arthur must be getting close as well.

Ready to switch it up again, Eames pushes Arthur’s head all the way down to the sheets, keeping his hips angled just a little bit, before he begins to hammer home inside of the point man. Every two or three strokes finds the head of his cock grazing Arthur’s prostate and he rides through Arthur’s loud responses, caught up in the fervent push of his hips against the man, the squelch of his penis moving in and out the smack of his balls against flesh. Then comes the tightened feeling rising from the base of him, tickling his balls, titillating his prick and squeezing his lower abdoen.

“Ahhhh, Ahhhh, shitfuckdamn Eames. You’re so deep. So deep inside me. I feel, I feel like I’m gonna…”

“Hold on darling. Just a moment longer. I’m ready to come myself. Can you come on your own or do I need to…?”

“Touch me Eames. Touch me and make me come. I want it. I need it. PLEEEEAASSSSSSE!”

Arthur’s gone. Not quite grounded in his conscience, more so a ball of sweat and tension and the feeling of glut that will send him hurtling over a cliff.

Eames understands because he’s almost there as well. His balls tighten up on him, almost uncomfortably and there’s a tingle at the base of his spine. The smell of Arthur is driving him mad with a fever he never knew he could have.

He’s pumping madly now. It’s loud and it’s raucous, making the springs of the mattress squeak out and he doesn’t care who hears. _Let ‘em fucking hear. Probably need to be reminded what a good shag is anyways._

He’s starting to waver. Feels ready to explode when he remembers to bend close to the point man. He breathes heavily over his back, curling his thick warm fingers around Arthur’s cock and begins to stroke forcefully.

Before he knows it, Arthur’s contracting tightly around him, groaning his name out loudly for all to hear and he feels the steady pulses of thick streams of cum hurtling over and through his fingers. He’s too far gone to stop at all, pushing through, snapping his hips wildly until a jolt of electricity surges through him.

He’s able to pull out just in time. Pushing his dick just beneath Arthur’s. taking them both in hand and pumping through their ejaculations together.

“Ughhhh, ughhh, ahhhh. Dammit Arthur. FUCK. You feel so fucking good, so good love.”

They’re still squirting together, cum on his fingers, some on Arthur’s stomach and a good bit fallen on the sheets below.

Eames loses sight for just a few moments. Everything going blindingly white as he collapses on top of Arthur’s back. The two of them groaning and catching their breaths. At varying rates, then syncing together.

Finally Eames moves away from the point man, grunting as he backs off and plops down beside him on his back.

“Shit love. That was bloody good. YOU were bloody good.”

Arthur’s eyes are closed. Shut tight enough that he can see the fine wrinkles forming in the middle of his forehead. He’s still steadying himself. When he opens his eyes, Eames sees a slight crease form at the edge of his eyes. Then he looks off into the distance (at what Eames has no idea) and turns away. Arthur gets on his legs, still shaky and unsteady from his orgasm.

“Arthur? Arthur? You alright darling?” Eames calls after him.

He doesn’t say a word. Simply walks to the bathroom, almost closing the door, then turns on the shower.

Eames scratches his belly, then gently rubs his balls and his dick. They’re still slick from exertion. When he brings his fingers up to his nose, all he can smell is the sweetness of Arthur mixed in with a little of his own cum. He slips a finger inside his mouth, savoring the taste and then sits up gently putting his feet on the carpet.

When he goes toward the bathroom, pushing the door back, Arthur is standing at the sink vigorously scrubbing his hands.

He’s already cleaned himself off. Something Eames needs to do. Eames walks past him to get a clean wash cloth and dips it into the water that’s running. As he starts wiping dried cum off his body, Arthur shuts off the water, scratches his hair and sighs.

“I guess I should say thanks for doing…this. But you can go back to your room. I’ll be fine.”

“Arthur…” Eames starts.

Arthur turns around to face him, skin blushed from embarrassment, he’s guessing.

“You’ve done more than enough and this really is my problem so…”

“Arthur, I don’t mind. In fact, I…don’t know if I can honestly stay away from you at this point. Just let me get you through your heat.”

“I have a boyfriend Eames.”

That little piece of information is enough to make Eames go still.

“I have a boyfriend and I really shouldn’t be doing this with you.” Arthur’s looking at him via the mirror. Eames can see the contrition, worry and angst all over him.

“Well let me at least get you settled with something to eat and drink or…”

It’s a mighty long time since Eames’ protective side has kicked in so quickly after a sex session. If he’s honest with himself, he’s been closed off in that way. Seeing transient partners as just another way to pass the time until he actually starts to feel something. Is that what’s happening right now?

“NO! Just don’t Eames! I don’t need you looking after me like I’m a child. Just…put your clothes on and leave. Please!”

Arthur quickly looks anywhere but at him. His breathing quickens. Eames sees the light sheen of perspiration starting to form at the top of his forehead.

He’s shocked and a little stung by Arthur’s rejection.

“As you wish,” he mumbles. He hangs the wash cloth up on the bathroom rack and goes into the bedroom to get his clothes. This wasn’t planned and Arthur doesn’t owe him a conversation or anything. But, he knows what’s coming. What will happen next. And he- Dammit, if the man wants him to leave, he’ll just fucking leave. It’s simple as that.


	7. At the Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames goes back to a private bungalow when he's unduly interrupted.

They were together for almost a year before Deidre moved in with him. It only seemed natural, once they began spending all of their time together.

Sometimes in the sweet early morning hours, Eames liked to nudge her awake. The world just contemplating a new beginning. And he would press his dick slowly inside, the intrusion of his cockhead helping to stir her heavy eyelids open.

Eames often expected her to grumble or whine that she wasn’t ready. But she’d sensuously hum, taking a deep breath, clamping down around him as he slid in til he could go no further. Eames would catch her eyes, smiling at him. And when she reached for him, he’d welcome her slender fingers, intertwining them with his own.

That’s why he kept his PASIV with him. Why he came back here over and over and over again.

Her body, it seemed, was made for him. And she wanted. How she wanted. To please him, to meet his hunger, to satiate her own.

She was his love. His forever love. He swore he’d spend his days showing her just how much she meant to him.

Their bliss lasted for two and a half years. But love wasn’t enough to save her. The ache from her loss was a soul scar. He didn’t know if he had it in him to love like that again.

* * *

Right now, they’re together on the floor of their bungalow. The windows are wide open and the heavy aroma of salt air is seeping inside the room. The ocean waves slosh steadily providing a relaxing ambience.

Eames is spread out on a towel in front of the bed. Naked as you please, with nothing on but a silver chain Deidre gave him for his birthday.

She’s licking his full length as he touches her head, her shoulders, any part of her he can reach. The sensation is _lush_.

“Darling!”, he gasps out.

“What?” she answers coyly.

She starts doing that thing with her tongue, circling ‘round and ‘round on the head. Then licking the wetness at his tender slit. He has to rise lightly so he can see.

“Do you even know…?” he begins.

Deidre angles her almond eyes up to gaze at him craftily.

“The only thing-“ _lick_

“that I know-“ _slurp_

“right now-“ _taking the dick halfway down between her thick lips_

“is that I’m gonna make a whole meal out of this.” _Feisty minx._

She grips his thighs slightly to pull herself up a bit, releasing his cock with a loud pop. The sudden flow of cool air there makes him leak out a little.

Deidre doesn’t miss this at all. Instead she takes one naughty finger and runs her finger up, gathering the slick and then immediately licking it off.

He can’t help bending down to crush his mouth to hers, taking in his own flavor. When they separate, she pushes him back just slightly and devours him. Taking his prick all the way into her mouth. She hollows out her cheek and slightly gags when he hits the end of her throat.

Sliding back, she releases him a bit, then adds her hand to the base of him while she slides up and down on his prick. It sounds obscene but it feels amazing. He’s even spread his legs open just a bit farther to make room to thrust his hips.

He’s almost there. The suction of her lips bringing him closer to the edge. He’s almost ready to explode when…

Is that a phone? Ringing? Again? And again?

* * *

Suddenly he’s pushed backwards from his dreamscape, through the taffy-like layers of his subconscious back into the hard, bright edges of reality. Yes, that’s a phone ringing. The hotel phone. And who the hell’s even using hotel phones nowadays when they can simply get him on his celly?

He reluctantly slides the needle of the PASIV out his arm and slowly rises to go answer the noisy block sitting on the table between the two beds of his hotel room.

“What?” No that’s not the English or generally polite way to answer the phone, but he’s been interrupted at a most inopportune moment and he’s not exactly pleased about it.

At first no one answers. But he hears the harsh inhalations and exhalations and he immediately knows who it is.

“Arthur…?”

More harsh breathing and then…

“Eames-“

“What is it?”

“Eames…please. Can you…come back? I need-, I…need. Please.”

Eames can feel him through the phone. Literally feel the vibration of angst and urgency. It immediately piques something deeply primal within him. He’s still a bit miffed by Arthur’s earlier rejection. Still smarting from the sting of it all and wants to throw a barb. _Because it’s what he deserves._

“Why’re you ringing me? Shouldn’t you call your boyfriend right now?”

His tone is deep, but acerbic enough that Arthur ceases audibly breathing for a moment. There’s true and utter silence on the other end. The pause is long enough that Eames wonders if he’s gone too far. He starts to stay something to backtrack when Arthur continues unexpectedly.

“I- I deserve that. And really we can talk about all of that later. But right now, I-, I need you. Can you come back upstairs? Please?”

He’s panting now, his breath audible and parched, like he’s been wandering in the desert searching for a wadi and his water bottle has long been drained of any type of moisture. Part of Eames wants him to suffer, wants him to lay there, begging for relief.

The other part, the part that was just denied a dream orgasm? Knows better than to turn away from this. He might want to be mentally petty right now. But his body wants, _hell needs,_ something else. And it’ll be damned if it lets him get in the way.

“Be there in a bit.”

He hangs up the phone, grabs his wallet and room key and heads back upstairs.

Neither of them stopped to consider that Eames didn’t have Arthur’s room key. He couldn’t just slip into the room. However, Eames’ time as a juvenile delinquent in South London, meant that lock picking was one of the first bullet points on his street CV. So with the slip of a sliver of metal, he undoes the lock and goes inside.

The first that hits him is the smell. The strong, sweet, musky smell of Arthur hitting his nose as soon as he’s through the door. His prick was half hard during his trip with the PASIV, but now that he’s in this room and he can literally smell just how ready, Arthur is, it hits him in several places, rendering his dick ready to go.

Eames locks the doors and starts unbuttoning his shirt as he walks further into the room.

“Arthur?” He can’t see him at first. The bedsheets are crumpled into mini peaks and hold somewhat of an Arthur-like shape. But the bed is empty.

“Arthur?”

He hears a whimper and then sighing that leads him to the farthest corner of the room. There, on the floor, by the lamp, curled up in the duvet, is poor Arthur. Even with the AC running at high speed, he’s sweating profusely, his usually tamed and gelled hair is a shock of thick black spikes sticking out in every direction. His skin is flushed, due to his high temperature and his eyes are closed, squinched enough to cause wrinkles in the middle of his forehead.

He slowly opens his eyes and simply looks at Eames, his current state eliminating the need for any verbal explanation. He looks drained and exhausted. They both know exactly what he needs.

Eames overrides his first instinct. He goes to the kitchen to get a nice glass of cold faucet water. When he bends down Arthur grabs it unceremoniously and gulps the liquid down. Eames watches him longingly, smiling a bit. And somehow feeling a rising heat on his skin’s surface as well.

Arthur hands back the glass, panting as if he’s just completed a morning run.

“You still have your clothes on,” he says admonishingly.

“Sort of a problem, innit?” Eames adds.

He stays still just a moment longer, taking Arthur in. Had he found the point man attractive before? Of course. But there’s something different in seeing him like this now. Unpolished, messy, stripped of any pretense of professionalism. It might be the hottest thing he’s ever seen in his life.

He offers Arthur a hand, pulling him up from the little nest he’s made and gets him to the bed. Then he begins to strip.

Off with his shirt and his pants (since his session with Deidre was interrupted he didn’t bother to put on underwear, so that’s not in the way). Then slipping out of his shoes, standing there in the altogether, his heart pulsing wildly.

Arthur takes a greedy glance at his member, fully erect and darkened with blood and mutters something about how he’s even walking around with that thing, and in the next moment, Eames is on the bed, maneuvering him onto all fours.

“God Arthur, your smell delicious.”

“Guess it’s my luck you think so.” His head is turned away from Eames, hanging down, even as he’s holding himself up with his arms and spreading his thighs to present his ass to the forger. Eames knows that he’s smiling slightly. Has caught the wryness of his comment and it makes him chuckle.

“You need a bit a touch, love?” He gets his answer when he runs two fingers over the point man’s hole and feels the copious amount of slick there.

“Maybe. Not really. I don’t fucking know.” His voice. God his voice. It’s deeper than he’s ever heard it. And the fact that he’s hearing it now, the fact that he’s here naked with a man he never expected to be naked with, that he’s even allowed to see Arthur in this way is making him slightly dizzy. It’s an unexpected gift.

“Eames. Don’t mean to be a prick about it but I need you inside me.”

“I’m on it darling,” he says, pushing two fingers inside roughly, loving the way it makes Arthur hiss and greedily push back onto them. Arthur’s certainly wet enough, but he pushes his fingers in and out a few times because his hole is still deliciously tight. This means the friction will feel amazing.

He’s rubbing Arthur’s back with his other hand, glancing down to see the point man’s rigid penis just hanging there, leaking onto the sheets. A quick flow of blood to his cock makes it jolt away from his body and he starts licking his lips thinking about how he wants to get his mouth on that really soon.

“Eames! I’m fucking ready. Put it in me!”

No need for a response is there? He slips his fingers out, planting one foot squarely on the bed for leverage, lines himself up and pushes in.

They groan simultaneously, Arthur arches his back and raises his head as the tip of Eames’ prick pushes steadily through the first ring of muscle and keeps moving forward. Arthur’s flesh squeezes around him like a vise, threatening to push him out for invading its space.

“Uhhh finally,” Arthur mutters. Slowly twisting his hips in a circular motion and craning his neck at an angle.

Eames wants this and Arthur needs this. There’s no going back now. He slides in and out a few times, preemptively gauging the lay of the land. Arthur clenches around him as he slides out on a back stroke, the pull on his dick is so strong and pointed it shoots electric sparks into his balls, his taint and the upper portions of his legs and something inside of him is set loose.

Eames grabs Arthur’s hips forcefully and begins to pound into him mercilessly.

“You want this? Need this monster dick, eh?” Eames growls.

“Fuck. Shit. YES!” Arthur shouts. He’s already adjusted to Eames’ rhythm, is expertly pushing back as Eames’ goes forward. There’s so much slick in his hole, running down his legs, that when their bodies meet there’s an audible squelching sound and it’s so obscene it’s bound to make Eames go mad.

He rears back even farther, plummeting deep inside, keeping a firm hold on Arthur’s hips, as the sound of his hips and balls clapping against Arthur’s cheeks echo out loudly in the room.

“Needed me to fuck you? Shag this blasted heat out of you huh?” Eames growls. It’s mostly the adrenaline and energetic surge inside that has him speaking that way. But a tiny bit of it is egotistic aplomb.


	8. You Don't Know a Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames quenches more of Arthur's thirst. But Arthur's exposed in the aftermath.

He thought they’d had an enjoyable round of sex, something he wanted and then once it was over, Arthur shut him out. Went ice cold on him and didn’t even tell him what he did wrong. It was rude and abrupt, but even more than that it was fucking hurtful and for several hours after that Eames truly didn’t know how to reconcile the feelings of embarrassment and shame Arthur had slickly passed on to him. He didn’t experience those feelings often and when he did there was usually a lot of alcohol or mindless sex (irony) to help push them away until he was in a better headspace.

“Ummmphh. Keep. Please- Don’t stop.” Arthur whimpers. The words come in time with the clap of Eames’ hips. Arthur’s out of his mind, the logical part at least. The sensation of that thick, unforgiving cock pushing deep inside, satiating a hunger his body won’t allow him to deny is simply too much to process. He’s bumbling, nonsensical. The words are literally being pushed out of him, stroked out of him. Right now, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Eames’ torso is arched, his head reared back and eyes shut tight. He’s swimming in all of the sensations swirling around and within him, until one errant swivel of Arthur’s ass, makes him lose his rhythm and he slips out of Arthur’s body. He slightly loses his footing, having to catch himself before he falls sideways or backwards off the bed.

Arthur’s whining at the emptiness. He starts clawing mindlessly at the sheets, swiveling his hips around in an enticing display. Eames has been jerked out of his head and back to the present moment of the room, the smell of Arthur so strong, wrapping around his own strong musk compelling him to complete his mission.

He stares down at the creature beneath him. Long and lithe with strong, tight muscles and that mess of hair sticking every which a way. He smiles to himself. Attractive, poised, composed were always words he’d used for Arthur in the years that they’d worked together. Now he’d have to add succulent to that list. Arthur was fucking beautiful and it was if Eames was seeing him for the first time.

Before he knew it, he was grabbing the point man’s hips to pull him backwards on the bed, pushing his head down flat on the mattress and licking a trail of sweat off his back, loving the tangy flavor of the drops on his tongue.

“Eames…I…please” Arthur was almost begging him. He couldn’t deny him. Deep inside of him, Eames felt his body wanting to claim this man, to make him his own. He wanted to make this beautiful bird sing. Wanted to fuck out a litany of verse and chorus so sweet that all he’d ever utter would be Eames’ name. But Arthur wasn’t his to claim. This was just sex. Heat sex, but sex nonetheless.

Eames punched back in, leaning over Arthur’s ears and groaning low and deep.

“What do you want darling?”

“Want you to fuck me. Want your dick so fucking deep inside of me that I can’t let it go.” Arthur moaned.

Eames let his hormones take over, setting a brutal, rapid pace and in the change of angle bumping against Arthur’s prostate, not caring to take time now to be gentle or prodding.

“Yes. Want it. Need it. Come on Eames FUCK ME!”

All of the times Eames had irritated him, all of the times he’d tested Arthur’s patience and pushed him to the limits of civility and decorum. All of the times Eames had challenged Arthur’s authority, pushing his buttons when Arthur attempted to map out a plan to make the team’s work as efficient as possible. All of that now was detritus on the side of the highway. The only thing Arthur cared about was being filled, having that thick, juicy cock stroking his most tender places, feeling the weight, the sweat, the scent of Eames on his back as his girth stretched his nether walls.

“Take this. Take this dick Arthur. I want you to feel me!”

Eames’ hips were pistons now, moving his dick deep inside the point man, hitting his prostate mercilessly, causing Arthur to cry out and shiver in response. Arthur was close now. He starts taking in great gulps of air as he feels his balls tighten, feels a tingling at the very base of his dick, feels his heart begin to flutter and Eames continues his pace, grumbling over him.

Eames can feel himself getting close as well. For the first time in a very long time he doesn’t want to pull out. His body is urging him to stay in this tight, wet heat and see himself to completion.

His present gaggle of brain cells tell him this might freak Arthur out, push him away. That they don’t have that kind of relationship. He never even thought to ask him beforehand. So he takes the chance to say something…

“…m’so close Arthur. So fucking close. M’gonna pull out.”

Somewhere deep inside of Arthur, a darker, angrier voice emerges. He doesn’t even know from whence it’s come.

“Don’t’ you fucking dare. Don’t you dare pull out. Not when I need this!”

His dick is leaking steadily now. Arthur’s so hard it’s a wonder there’s any available room for blood to still flow in the veins there.

Arthur pushes back angrily against Eames, his head flat on the bed facing the windows. His body is taut, so tight and wound up that he can feel the tiny hairs on his arms standing erectly against the cool air of the AC vent.

Eames thrusts erratically now and without thinking, Arthur places his hands on his own ass, spreading his cheeks apart so Eames can feel and see nothing but his hole; that deep mysterious cavern where his dick disappears, where they’re joined together so beautifully.

“Eames. I need you. Touch me!” Arthur moans. He should be utterly panicked at the way his coworker has him spread wide, but his need is so broad, so vast that he figures he can deal with all of that shit later. W a therapist if need be. But he’ll be damned if he lets any judgmental part of himself fuck this up now. They’re almost there.

Eames reaches down and curls his thick fingers around Arthur’s cock, merely caressing it at first and then beginning to stroke the sensitive head between his fingers. When Arthur gives wanton response, he gathers up some of the slick from inside Arthur’s thigh, bringing it back to his prick for more lubrication.

Arthur starts to shiver, the sensation of Eames’ hand on his dick with his cock pressed deep inside flays him open, leaving every piece of himself exposed.

He knows it won’t be long now. He determinedly fucks into Eames’ hand, then fucks back on his cock. Eames has taken up a new tempo, double-time from the one before. They’re grunting and groaning, catching their breaths as needed.

A few more hits to his prostate and then Arthur squeezes around Eames’ dick, his body going stiff. He begins to cry out, his body convulsing as he squirts sperm all over the sheets beneath him. He’s crying out in a voice he’s never heard before but knows is his.

Eames is still fucking into him and it feels so damn good. It’s helping cool that interminable heat that’s been building in his body. He doesn’t ever want it to end.

“…so good. So bloody good!.,” Eames shouts out, just before his body goes taut, his back lengthening an extra inch as he falls over the edge, still plunging inside, still seeking warmth and heat and sensation. Then Eames goes still as the knot at the base of his cock begins to swell and…

“Eames. Eames? What the fuck…” Arthur pants out. He knows what this is. Eames is an Alpha after all and when Alphas fuck you and stay inside their pricks swell until they’re literally stuck inside you, locked in. But Arthur didn’t realize it would feel like this. Another stinging, burning sensation as Eames’ flesh stretches him to out to its widest limits.

Eames has collapsed onto his back now. His muscular arms wide over Arthur’s own, his hot breath against Arthur’s neck and the sweat from this own face and torso blending with Arthur’s creating an intoxicating new smell that he deeply inhales.

“Just bear down Arthur. Squeeze down around me.”

Arthur wants to say he was trying. He scrambles forward just a bit to gain purchase on the sheets but he didn’t realize how large Eames would be with his knot in addition to his dick. He scrunches his eyes closed, trying to grab around the knot from deep inside, trying to adjust to the new sensation. He’s slightly scared that this will break him and he’ll never be able to fuck again.

Then before he knows it, it stops. He feels the palpitations of Eames’ dick rubbing up against his flesh as he comes and comes and comes. So much sperm soaking his insides, filling him up, making him feel so very good and claimed.

Eames makes a few more jerky thrusts, rubbing up against his magic spot and Arthur squirts cum out a few more times. Then he feels his body go lax, fully taking on the weight of Eames on his back, trying to steady his breath.

Eames’ heartbeat clambers against him. Their sweat cools as the air from the vents spread around them. Finally when his breathing almost slows to a standstill, Eames goes very still and quiet, then gently jostles them around on the bed, until they’re lying on their sides.

Eames curls carefully around Arthur, spooning him with his dick still hard deep inside. Arthur has a mind to ask Eames how long it takes for his knot to go down, but before he can muster the strength to speak, he falls fast asleep.

* * *

When he wakes up _(how long were they out exactly?)_ , Eames is curled all the way around him. One hand protectively clutches his abdomen. His dick still inside, although now soft and flaccid. Arthur yawns a bit, stretching his loose arm out in front of him. Then he beings to slowly move away from Eames. As his penis slides out, some of the cum inside of him falls out on the sheets.

He looks over at the forger who is still asleep, although stirring slightly. Arthur looks at the wet on the bed and suddenly feels ashamed. He’s got a fucking boyfriend for crying out loud and he’s just let his coworker bugger him unconscious. He sits on the edge, thinking what to do next when he feels a large, broad hand rubbing the base of his back.

“Y’alright there?” Eames asks. He’s still groggy, his voice thick from sleep.

Arthur looks back at him, his face as blank as Eames has ever seen it, except for the despondent look in his eyes. Eames is used to Arthur frowning. Everyone is. Frowns usually signify deep concentration, visually mental problem solving, a contemplating whether the next move is the right one. But this look, this look frightens Eames. So much has happened. There’s so many things they need to say now. Arthur lies back down, this time facing Eames, feeling a tiny bit of comfort when a requisite arm fall around his waist.

He should be, no he is very embarrassed. At Eames seeing him naked, at Eames seeing him in a moment of weakness and Eames knowing one of the darkest secrets he’s kept away from everyone. Including Dom.

“Eames…I”

“I know, I know, I know, you have a boyfriend. This was only sex and it shouldn’t have happened. M’not gonna get my hopes raised over here. Don’t you worry.”

That admission actually takes Arthur aback for a bit. This is/was just sex. But now that he realizes Eames can shake it off so easily, he’s slightly shocked and hurt. He doesn’t really know what he’s feeling.

“You…”

Eames reaches out to wipe some errant piece of something off his face and Arthur realizes how much he likes the feeling of Eames non-sexual hands on him. It’s a friendly enough gesture, tinged with a lingering intimacy. He strangely wants to reach his hand out as well to meet It. But he doesn’t.

“Please don’t tell anyone about this.” Arthur whispers. He glances at Eames who is staring directly at them. How has he never noticed the light freckles peppering Eames’ face? Or the fact that his eyes are two different colors, (hazel and brown)? How has he resisted those perfectly plump lips and why were those caring eyes stirring something inside of him now?

Eames let out a chuckle, as if he were a small child. “I just told you I know what this is. I’m not gonna make a fuss or tell anyone about it. I don’t make it a habit to kiss and tell, darling.”

“No that’s not what I mean.” Arthur shakes his head as he feels the lump forming in his throat. He hasn’t had to talk about this is in the longest time. The fact that he is about to now, is so very frightening.

“There’s only a handful of people that know that I’m really an…Omega. I don’t want that getting out.”

Eames pauses for a bit. Still looking at him. His gaze is so piercing Arthur has to look away. He can’t handle the full force of the man. He starts to say something, stops, then begins again.

“Arthur, what’s going on? Why have you been hiding this?”

He shivers a bit when he remembers his very first heat in high school, how his father allowed him to stay home from school once he realized that Arthur wasn’t just playing sick or trying to duck responsibilities.

“Outside of you, no one in my current life knows about this. No one. Not even my Robert.”

Eames swipes his thumb down along one of Arthur’s cheeks and Arthur feels himself blush, all the way from his chest to his neck and then finally his face. This touch is definitely intimate. There’s no doubt about it. Arthur still doesn’t reach back. He has to maintain some measure of control right now.

“Arthur. You shouldn’t be hiding this. Least of all from your…”

“I had to. I have to. I’ve been taking suppressants since right before I graduated college. I wanted a career in the military and there was no way anyone was gonna take me seriously if I had to shuffle off every few months because of…,” he waves his hands around referencing his body “all of this!”

He shrinks away from Eames just a bit. He figured he’d be talking about this to anyone inside dreamshare, let alone a man he’s been crushing on for the last few years.

Eames chuckles at him, reaching for Arthur as he recoils, ashamed at all of this and feeling like a petulant child.

“But Arthur…you’re not in the Service anymore. This is dreamshare.” He quickens his response when Arthur huffs audibly. “I’m not saying that anyone has to know your business. But…you have the freedom to take off, to work around this. It’s not an impossibility.”

Arthur crosses his arms, staring at the ceiling, feeling a crimson flush burn through his face. How did he even land in this predicament? It all feels unfair and now he’s gone and had sex, _amazing sex by the way,_ with a man who seems to make light of what he’s feeling. He’s angry, he’s scared, he’s irritated, and he wants to punch something.

“This is all easy for you to say Eames. You’re an Alpha. You don’t have to hide, or shield yourself or ever worry about how people will see you. They take one fucking look at you, and even if they don’t know what you are, they see a man who is capable and strong. Somebody they know not to fuck with. They don’t see that with me. People already think I’m someone they have to test to prove their worth or some shit.”

Eames remembers how he was when he first met Arthur. All of the shit he gave him for being the most organized, fastidious, determined member of that initial dreamshare team. Eames liked to fuck around, liked to see how much he could irritate, challenge, get under people’s skin.

He’d had an especially delightful time doing such to Arthur. To the point that the man had refused to work with him for almost six months before the directors convinced him otherwise. He realizes that his actions may have affected Arthur more deeply than he’d imagined. He feels a pang in his chest that might partly be regret, might partly be something else he won’t name.

“Yes Arthur, you’re right. People don’t mess with me in that way. But if you don’t think they’re snickering behind my back, talking about how I’m such a broad, thick oaf who’s only led around by his… (he glances downward) biology, you’d be mistaken.”

His tone is gentler, his eyes even more so. He wants to apologize, to wrap Arthur up in his arms. No they’re not together, but they’ve been quite intimate in the last 48 and he feels as if he owes Arthur this small kindness.

Arthur’s tearing up just a bit. Eames averts his gaze so as to give the man a measure of privacy in this moment.

“I just…fucking HATE this. I hate the way my body works. I’ve been taking suppressants for years now and suddenly I guess either my chemistry has changed or I got a bad batch of pills but it’s all gone off the rails. And to top it off, I can’t even finish out this job. Dom and I have been working on this for eight months now. All that planning down the fucking drain.”

Now Eames does reach out. He touches Arthur’s arm and the man doesn’t flick him off which is a good thing.

“I know that this is…”

“You don’t know a fucking thing Eames. If you did, you’d know that I wouldn’t even want you here except for my stupid heat making absolutely bonkers. Just…I don’t wanna talk about this anymore.”

With that, Arthur’s off the bed, not bothering to cover himself. Then he’s in the bathroom. He slams the door shut and takes a hot shower to wash all of the sweat and cum and filth from his body. What the hell does Eames know anyways? Who is he to even try and act like all of this isn’t a big fucking deal?


	9. Calming Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In spite of his behavior, Eames brings Arthur food and makes an astute realization.

So that’s the second time that Arthur’s cut the conversation (and Eames) short, hiding in the fucking bathroom and slamming a door in Eames’ face. Well not directly in his face. But he might as well have done.

Eames is pissed, if not still a little turned on. But he’s not going to push the issue and rankle Arthur any further right now. Right now what he wants is a nice hot shower of his own. He hastily throws on his clothes, gets his key card and takes the elevator down to his room. He only comes into contact with a few people in the elevator and the hallway and he’s truly thankful for that. Because he knows anyone that gets near him will be able to smell the evidence of his and Arthur’s…activities.

Most humans are betas and therefore don’t possess the heightened sense of smell of “the others” among them. But there are certain things one simply can’t hide: the smell of a harsh round of hoops on the basketball court, the bitter aroma of blood from an open wound, and the pungent smell of the combined scents of a couple’s sex. Almost everyone alive knows instinctively what that is when the odor hits them. And as such, almost everyone would shift their eyes and heads away from the “offending” party, so as not to call attention to their recent exertions. It’s an unspoken rule of respect.

Even though he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, Eames realizes Arthur’s smell is starting to have an effect on him. It’s not as strong as his own musk for sure, but it’s heavy and sweet, it’s final notes lending themselves to cinnamon and something else spicy that he can’t yet place. It’s awakening something within him that he hasn’t felt in a very long time. Not since…

When Eames hits the room, he strips immediately, leaving his clothes on the floor in front of the bed. Then before he even realizes, he’s standing under the hot spray, lathering up his washcloth with the minty liquid soap and thoroughly washing all his surfaces and crevices. This’ll be good to help him cool down and clear his head.

When he gets out, Yusuf is there, sprawled out on the spare bed, flipping channels with the remote. He’d almost forgotten the man was still here in town.

“Oi mate. How goes it?” Yusuf doesn’t see fit to look at him. They’ve lived together as friends long enough in Mombasa that they’ve seen each other’s bits a time or two. There’s no self consciousness or shock here to be had.

“Fine, fine. I should be asking about the team?” Eames shakes loose beads of water from his head and wipes off swiftly with his towel.

“Well, seeing as how they lost both you and Arthur, it took them quite a bit longer than expected to pull off the first part of the mission. But they got ‘er done. Dom and Hanson were able to transfer Tawfiq back to his own apartment before the somnacin and sedative completely wore off. Worst come to worst, he’ll chalk it up to a bit of day drinking and an overactive imagination.”

“S’good,” Eames answers. He’s pulling out the drawers, slipping on fresh underwear and sorting out which clean clothes to wear that won’t make him sweat too much in this heat.

“And speaking of the team. How’s Arthur doing?”

There’s just enough space at the end of his question, signifying that Yusuf suspects what’s been going on. Eames pulls out a blue cotton shirt and quickly gets it over his head and down around his limbs and torso.

“He’s resting now.” He and Yusuf catch each other’s eyes in the mirror and even though Eames knows there’s no real judgment from this one, he still feels a bit timid, if not territorial around what’s happened. It’s not for Yusuf to know the details. He’s fine if his bloke chalks it up to a temporary bout of horniness and destruction on his part (which, it kind of was yeah?) and leaves it there.

“I mean, what went wrong with him? He went under with the rest of you just find and then next thing I know, he’s back awake, looking horrid and bolting outta there like he’d met the Grim Reaper or something.”

Eames is now sitting on his bed, sliding into a brand new pair of jeans he bought at the airport. Jeans aren’t really his style, if you could ever say he had one to begin with. He usually wears slacks, so now that he’s off the job for a bit, he might has well dress like any other Westerner. He pulls them up as far as possible while sitting and then bolts up jumping a bit to pull them all the way up to his waist and do the buttons.

“Don’t really know. Everything was going as planned. We had the mark in play at a hookah joint and then the next thing anyone knew Arthur was jetting out of there like he’d been shot or something. I told the rest of the team to head onto the bank. We took a few minutes to rearrange duties and by the time I caught up to Arthur, he was in leaning on the side of a building, blowing his brains out to get back to consciousness.”

“Ouch.” Yusuf offered up. “One of the reasons I don’t like going under so much these days. Having to do yourself in to make it back?”

“It’s one of the more unsavory parts of the job.” Eames is actually combing his hair now, making sure all of the strands, but especially the reckless cowlick in the front, lay down smooth and in some sort of order. _Wait. Since when has he cared so much about his hair looks?_

“You get used to it,” he shrugs. It’s sad but true. He’s had to kill himself now more times than he’d ever care to remember. The first time was traumatic enough to warrant a whole day of drink and drugs to forget it. The next few times were still unpleasant, but easy enough for him to shake off with a raucous night of company.

“He usually pops pills for his migraines. He gets ‘em now and then when we’re working.”

Eames has no idea where he’s planning to go, but he’s already got his shoes on. Maybe it’s a bodily imperative for him to clear his head and sort out everything that’s happened.

“M’gonna head out for a bit. Take a little walk and get Arthur plenty of water and maybe a bite to eat. What are you up to?”

Yusuf’s settled on some detective drama on the telly. He’s on his side now, propped up by three levels of pillows and looking quite comfy. He yawns for a bit, the change in time zones finally catching up to him.

“I’ll probably get something to gnosh on myself and then settle in for a nice long sleep. I’ve stocked Dom up well enough for his next few jobs. I’ve gotta head out in the morning, to drop off more somnacin in Budapest, Prague, Paris and Rome. Fucking EU!”

Eames is already turned around to go.

“I’ll be out for who knows how long. Feel free to order what you want and charge it to the room…”

“You thought there was another option mate?”

“Fuck off!” Eames teases as he shuts the door.

* * *

“No, no! I don’t need you to come to Cairo. Everyone knows I get headaches sometimes. This was probably just a mistake on my part. Maybe I didn’t drink enough water or I ate something that reacted with my meds. It’s really no big deal.”

Arthur’s clean, under the covers with just his boxers on. The AC is now blasting in his room like it’s the Arctic and even though his body temp is threatening to rise back up again, he feels better than he has since this all started.

He’s on the phone with Robert, who’d called Arthur in the middle of his workday to leave a message and is now threatening to hop on the closest 757.

“Lemme just come spend a day or two with you and we can head wherever it is you go when you lay low after a job.”

“Rob? Seriously. I appreciate your concern and you know I’d love to see you. But I haven’t even checked in with Dom yet. We’re still in play. There’s plenty more to get done. And I don’t need anyone to know we’re connected, in case things go bad.”

Arthur’s frowning slightly now as he picks at his nails. He’s in the middle of his first heat in, what, eight years? His boyfriend doesn’t know why any of this is really happening and now he wants to come and take care of Arthur, when the only person around who can quickly take care of him is a hot ass coworker he has no business spending off hours with. The luck!

“Okay. I get that the job’s not over and this isn’t an ideal time. But…I just wanna see you. Is that so bad?”

“Babe, when I get home, I told you, I’m all yours. No jobs booked until you say so.”

“You promise?”

Arthur’s relieved that he’s able to keep his boyfriend at bay. “I pinky swear!” he answers.

“Well alright. I’ll let you get some rest. But call me. Later on or early tomorrow morning your time. I just wanna know that you’re okay.”

“I appreciate it. You know I do.”

“And Arthur?”

“Yes?” Arthur’s scratching at his chest now. There’s a slight itch, threatening to spread back out over his entire body surface.

“You know I love you, right?”

There’s a loud knock at the door. Arthur hasn’t even ordered anything, but he jumps up to go get the door. He’s never been more grateful for an interruption. He opens it up and there’s Eames. Freshly showered, still with stubble on his chin, holding several bags, some of which he knows is food, because the aroma’s hitting his stomach at just the right juncture.

“Of course Robert. And I love you too.”

Something changes in Eames’ eyes when he says the words. Something feels off in his body as well. He’s not going to take time to parse it. He just realized how long it’s been since he’s eaten and he needs to get off the phone.

“Yeah, yeah. Alright. Talk to you later. Bye.”

* * *

Eames’ brushes past and heads to the kitchen to put the bags on the counter. He shuts the door and follows the scrumptious smell of Thai food (Thai food in Cairo? Whatever, he’ll take it.)

“Checking in with the old ball and chain huh?” Eames gives a half laugh when he says it. Trying to keep things light. They’re not just coworkers anymore.

“Just tell me what the hell’s In the bags Eames?” Arthur’s crossed his arms and he’s frowning, yet one of his eyebrows is arched curiously. Eames somehow finds his temperament adorable. But he could never say that aloud.

“Well first I got brought you three gallons of water, because you have to be dehydrated by now.”

There’s swift silence that Eames allows. No need for either one of them to be embarrassed.

“And…I thought you might be hungry so I ordered some pad thai plus plenty of appetizers and…”

He must not be putting the food out on the table fast enough, because before he knows it Arthur’s pushing him aside, pulling the plastic containers out of the bag and placing them on the countertop. He grabs a set of plastic utensils with one container of pad thai and sits down at the table crossed legged.

Arthur moans when he gets that first forkful of noodles into his mouth. They’re hot and savory and he sees now how hollow his stomach has been since this whole blasted heat thing began. It’s nice to be replenished. It was kind for Eames to do this.

Eames tilts his head towards the bag. “Mind if I…?’

“Of course not. You bought it,” Arthur answers. It sounds abrupt, but he’s too busy twirling noodles around his fork and then catching them with his mouth to be bothered by Eames right now.

Eames grabs food and utensils for himself. Then gets glasses from the cabinet and pours them both nice, tall glasses of water. Because the truth is, they both need it. Arthur finishes his glass as Eames is taking his first bites of food.

“Hmmmm…not bad at all…,” Eames comments. He’s not an expert, but this food is flavorful and rich and tastes delicious. As good as any Thai food he’s eaten back home or in the States, that’s for sure.

“god, I think I forgot what food even was for a minute. This is exactly what I needed Eames. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Arthur sounds sincere enough. And he’s calm enough to not be a prick right now. So being the best he can expect in this situation, Eames accepts it.

“Say, I was wondering. Do you have any thoughts about why you even went into heat in the first place?”

Arthur’s smacking slightly and it makes Eames smile. He looks so much younger right now. Every bit of straight-laced Arthur has been thrown aside. He’s got one foot up on the chair, he’s still humming slightly, enjoying the taste of it, even using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth. The heat’s knocked the stick out of his ass. Slightly.

“I was fine. Everything was fine. I took my regular medicine in the morning. My head started hurting so I took something for that. And then I went under. Maybe there was something in the water I drank. Or maybe Yusuf’s new somnacin cocktail reacted badly with my body. I don’t know. All I know is I haven’t had to shoot myself out of dream in almost a year now.”

He’s still shoving forkfuls of noodles into his mouth without a care. Then he’s up bringing back more water to the table so he can refill his glass.

“What’ll you do if this happens again?” Eames asks curiously. It was a thought he should have kept at the back of his mind, but he’d blurted it out before he could stop himself.

Arthur lets his fork drop into the plastic container and chews his last bit of noodles. He rubs his stomach haphazardly and scooches back just a bit in his chair.

“I ‘on’t know,” he says shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t plan on doing any jobs for awhile when I get home. Maybe my body will have sorted itself out by then.”

It’s at that precise moment that it dawns on Eames. It was probably the newly structured somnacin that must have done Arthur in. As an Alpha he knew that Arthur’s mention of medicine was probably a reference to some type of suppressant. He’d worked with another omega who’d briefly mentioned it. That’s why his heat had been such a surprise for him. Why he didn’t even have a frame of reference for what it was like anymore. He’d been suppressing for years now.

When he finishes eating, Eames has a sneaky thought. He excuses himself to the bathroom, and then with the water running, quickly scans the bathroom counter. Seeing only one bottle that has any prescription labeling, he opens it and pours three pills onto a tissue and stuffs it into his pocket.

Arthur’s lying down, eyelids getting heavier and heavier. He’ll probably take another nap (that he definitely needs). Eames fights the strong urge to lay down on the bed next to him and instead makes some excuse about needing to do some research on his laptop. Arthur’s not really fussed about him leaving right now and that’s fine.

* * *

“What’s this then?” Yusuf is sitting back on his bed with a large tray of food that’ll set Eames back who knows how much. It’s more Mediterranean dishes, steamed grape leaves, with babaganoush, pita bread and succulent pieces of lamb on skewers. Maybe he should have ordered in from the hotel as well.

“I got Arthur some food and whatnot because he couldn’t hold anything down from before…”

“Yeah…”

Eames pulls the tissue out of his pocket with the three small pills and places them on the nightstand next to Yusuf’s cellphone.

“Well, Arthur mentioned that he takes a daily medication. And I was wondering whether or not your new somnacin cocktail may have interacted with it.”

Yusuf’s smacking loudly now. There’s a slight grease stain on the left side of his mouth. He wipes it harshly with the thick white hotel napkin and leans back on the pillows at the headboard on the bed.

“What? You want me to dissolve these and test them with the new formula?” He’s turned the volume on the TV down now slightly. Eames guesses he must have interrupted him at a crucial moment in the program, because he looks slightly perturbed.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“I mean, Eames, you do know it’ll be three weeks or so before I can get back into the lab, yeah?”

He remembers Arthur mentioned being off for a few months after this job. That would give Yusuf enough time to test it, give him the results and for him to inform Arthur. If Arthur is still speaking to him by that point.

“Oh that’s perfect mate. He’s a little shy about getting so sick in front of the team. I figured I’d do him this solid, so he can figure out what’s going on.”


	10. An Interesting Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames starts to put the pieces together.

Eames goes back out again to a local bar to have a few drinks. What he really wants to do is use his PASIV to go under, but Yusuf’s in the room and even though he’d never technically see or hear anything, he doesn’t like the thought of Yusuf being there while he’s with Dee. That’s such sacred time for him. Instead he takes a ten minute walk to one of the main drags of the neighborhood, picks a slightly seedy but solid pub and orders a few pints, after he sits at the bar.

There are plenty of men around him, of all ages, conversing in quiet tones about family, work, important business they’d rather not discuss around said family and certain extracurriculars that require euphemisms so neither person in the convo can be shamed.

He’s lived in Africa for almost four years now. So of course, he's used his knowledge of French to talk to locals until he learned enough Arabic to feel confident talking to strangers. The customs are different, the religion is different, even the pace of Mombasa, where he lives, is much different than London. But one thing’s for sure. People are indeed people. Everywhere he goes.

He’s halfway through the first pint when a solid hand grasps his shoulder. He doesn’t jump or jerk around. He’s felt the weight of that hand enough to know that it’s Dom.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“Lemme buy you pint mate. For old time’s sake.” Eames nods his head at Dom who looks a little worse for wear. He’s got bags beneath his eyes and one hand flits nervously inside his pants pocket. _Must be where his totem is_ , Eames thinks. Now that Eames has lost someone near and dear to him, he refuses to judge Dom like he once did. There's a lingering sorrow they now share, even if the architect doesn’t know it.

“So how’s the job? Things pretty close to plan?” Eames feels lousy that not only was he late to this gig, now he’s transferred most of his duties to a youngster, who while capable enough, still may not have the finesse to get them out of a jam when they really need it.

“We’re doing okay. Auslander is using a few scouts to verify the location of the goods. We’re going to create a plan to help him retrieve it and get back home safely. You can never be too careful. Then again, you already know that.”

Dom places both hands on the bar, fiddling them nervously until his beer is poured. He takes a generous sip like it’s the only thing that could possibly quench his thirst. The man looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Eames will have to make this up to him somehow. Another time.

“Hey. How is Arthur. They told me he got really sick and punched back out and that you were looking after him." Dom looks appropriately concerned. He's a stand-up guy, even with all of his demons.

"He should be sleeping right now. He’s had a really high fever for the last few days. Broken out in sweats, sick on his stomach. Thought it was a stomach bug, but looks like it might be more along the lines of a flu.” 

“Sheesh. Does he need anything? Should I make an appointment for a private doctor to check him out?”

As much as Eames lies for work, he doesn’t like lying to coworkers. It’s simply unnecessary. Except for lies of omission. Those are often a necessary evil in his estimation. But in this instance, it's better to protect Arthur's privacy.

“I’ll wait another day and see how he’s doing. If his fever is still high by then, I’ll give you a call.”

Dom nods his understanding, taking more sips of beer. Neither of them are the most talkative of blokes so they sit for a bit in a companionable silence until Dom pipes up.

“Oh by the way, I got some interesting news from my associates,” Dom says almost cheerfully.

“Yeah, what’s that?” Eames asks.

“They’ve sent word that some goons from Cobol Engineering were seen down in South Africa, around the Eastern Cape. S'not clear what they want or what they’re doing but, it’s good to know.”

“Yes it is,” Eames agrees.

_Eastern Cape, huh?_ Eames knows better than to believe in coincidences.

* * *

Now when he gets back to his room, he doesn’t connect to the PASIV. Yusuf’s stuffed (he presumes) and fast asleep on the bed. Eames turns of the TV, turns off all of the lights, then opens up his laptop and gets to work.

Once he’s gone four server levels deep, (enough to test a professional hacker’s skills), he does a little digging. His focus? Searching the Eastern Cape of South Africa to see what recent crop fires they’ve had there. It doesn’t take him long to find a fire near Coffee Bay _(isn’t that the name Yusuf shared with him)_ of several hundred acres. It’s mostly crops of a plant called _Silene undulata_ , also known as the African dream root. Sounds like something Yusuf would need for somnacin. And it also makes a sighting of Cobol Engineering thugs a bit clearer to his mind.

He reaches out to a few of his less reputable cohorts. Professionals who are known to almost every major intelligence agency in the world. Who sometimes provide those agencies with information and can get surveillance footage from them when needs be.

For the sake of curiosity, he asks for footage around or near the dream root farm for the last month or so. Combing through hundreds of photos, there’s nothing initially unusual or suspicious there. Then about two weeks in he notices the presence of men who aren’t among the regulars. Casually dressed, wearing caps and sunglasses. Not so easy to identify, although he can spot the ear piece in one’s left ear as he flips through them.

So this was a targeted attack? But for what purpose?

He’s still flipping through when he sees a clearer picture of another man talking to one of the farmers at one of the small on site buildings. Today, he’s bold enough to walk around with no cap, no sunglasses and not even a hint of an earpiece in his ear.

Eames’ cellphone begins buzzing in his shirt pocket, but he’s too busy staring at the picture. Zooming in closer, he suddenly recognizes the man. His hair is much shorter now and he’s gained a few pounds since before Dom came searching for him to work the Fischer job. But it’s him alright.

It's Nash. That slimy weasel of a man.

And now Eames has a prime directive, to search interrogate and destroy if necessary.

His phone is like a large insect that needs to be swiped, the buzz is irritating him that much. But when he picks it up and only hears harsh breathing on the other end, he doesn’t have to guess who it is.


	11. Next Moves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames takes care of Arthur. In more ways than one.

He reaches the door and is just about to knock, when Arthur opens it up. Arthur doesn’t say anything. He simply stares at Eames for a few moments, then ushers him in.

The entire room smells like Arthur, rich and spicy and Eames feels blood begin to pool down towards his most sensitive area. He wants to grab Arthur by the neck and shove him into the wall. But he refrains. These hotel walls are very white. He suspects management won’t appreciate all of the sweat stains they’ll leave there.

“You gonna throw a tantrum and shut down afterwards?” Eames asks. It’s a legitimate question. What’s really puzzling is the fact that he even cares. There’s no time to think about that right now anyways.

Arthur shakes his head “No” slowly back and forth.

He’s standing there in a white T-shirt and his navy blue boxer shorts, sweat stains causing both pieces of clothing to stick to his skin. His breathing is measured, but it’s much heavier than normal and his face is flushed red like a berry.

“You sure about that?” Eames just wants to clarify. He’d hate to go wildly Alpha and do something rash.

Arthur just stands there gripping his own thighs helplessly. Then in one smooth move he slides his shirt up and over his head, pulls his boxer briefs down til they hit the floor and walks over to the bed. He climbs on the mattress, getting himself up on all fours and turns to look wantonly at Eames.

Eames sees the sinewy muscles flex and stretch beneath his skin as he moves his hips to aimlessly try and relieve the heat. His dick is red and charged. It’s hanging down away from his body at an angle. Eames has just realized how heavy it is.

“Wanna get over here and do something about this or do I have to do it myself?” Arthur’s out of breath of course.

“Already on it!” Eames puts his laptop and phone down on the counter and starts tearing at his clothes. Buttons, zippers, clasps are no obstacle when there’s a shameless kitten on the bed waiting for him.

Arthur’s heat is tearing into him, been tearing into him for several hours now. He held out as long as could, as long as his ego would allow before calling Eames’ cell. Truth be told, he’d called the room a few hours prior and was surprised to be speak to Yusuf. He hadn’t talked to any of the active team members, so he had no way to know that Yusuf was still in town. Yusuf was kind enough. He simply gave him Eames’ cellphone number, wished him a bit of better health and then got back to his own evening.

By the time is Eames is in the altogether, Arthur’s eyes are closed, head pressing down into the sheets, as he uses them to wipe his face clean from sweat.

Eames leans over his back, pressing the stiffest part of himself in the crevice between Arthur’s cheeks.

“Not this time around love,” he whispers into Arthur’s ear.

The vibration of Eames’ deep voice, the puffs of air that land on his skin, make Arthur shiver and writhe even more. He goes lax just enough for Eames to grab onto him and reposition him until he’s on his back.

Even though he’s ready, _he’s been ready,_ all it takes is one look at Eames for him to close his legs slightly in a vain attempt at shielding himself. Yeah, they’ve fucked twice now. Eames has seen all of his bits. But having to look Eames in the face while they do it? It’s a little too much right now.

Arthur scrunches his eyes shut tight, clasping the sheets between his fingers. He sighs when he feels Eames gently pushing his legs apart. They’ve done this already, he knows what to expect. Yet there’s something about being this exposed that has his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

“God you’re beautiful,” Eames whispers.

Arthur doesn’t respond. Well not verbally at least. A small trickle of precum slips out of the head of his cock and down his length. He’s at an exact 90 degree angle right now. He can feel it. If Eames keeps talking, his dick will extend back, all the way to his stomach. Does the man even know Arthur could come from the sound of his voice alone? Maybe when he’s in his right mind, if they’re ever able to even talk about this casually, he’ll tell him.

Arthur waits, expecting to feel fingers entering his ass or massaging his balls. So when a timid tongue licks at the slit of his dick, swirling around the circumference of the head, he can’t be blamed for crying out.

“Eames what the fuck…?”

Arthur immediately makes small pumping motions with his hips, pushing his dick into Eames’ mouth. The forger takes that as a positive sign and begins sucking Arthur’s cock just a bit, alternating with more furtive licks.

They haven’t slept together enough for any real routine to have formed between him. But usually during sex, Omegas are the ones eager to give their mates head. Not the other way around. _Not that this is his mate by any means._

Eames begins to hum-moan around the point man’s cock. The reverberation against his skin is tantalizing and he shudders on the bed. His eyes crack open on their own.

“Arthur darling, I had no idea you’d taste as delicious as you smell. I may not even fuck you at all…” Eames teases.

Arthur’s let go of the tiniest sliver of embarrassment left within him and continues groaning, pumping his hips upwards so Eames can take him in further and further. He’s gazing at the ceiling, then letting his eyes wander around the room. But the suction at his groin forces him to look down, which turns him on even more.

The forger? Eames? Hovering over him and sucking him down like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted? Arthur feels a clench just above his balls and then a bit more precum spills out of him. This time, right into Eames’ willing mouth.

“Uuuuggggh. Shit! Eames…”

They look at each other. Eames’ eyes have gone from fiery hazel green to dark brown. Arthur can feel the heat of his gaze. Can absolutely feel just how much Eames wants to pounce.

“What is it darling?”

Eames looks absolutely demented. Like he could grow claws and fangs at any minute and tear Arthur up into pieces. It’s frightening and it’s animalistic and Arthur might actually be willing to let himself be devoured. He’s that much in need.

“If…ifiifif you keep going…” Arthur’s stuttering, feeling the good yet prickly sting of his heat flood his skin, making him itch and sweat.

“If I…” Eames licks around the head.

“keep…” Then slurps up more precum onto his tongue.

“doing this…” He hollows out his cheeks, pushing his mouth almost all the way down Arthur’s length.

“I’m gonna…Gonna. Need you! Need you so badly.”

Arthur’s truly snapping his hips now. The warmth of Eames’ mouth feels so damn good and although this could never quell his heat alone, it’s allowing him to not lose his mind entirely.

Eames looks down at Arthur. At those dark eager eyes, his curly mess of a head, at the way he’s literally offering himself up to Eames, arching his back and spreading his legs just a bit further. He’s delectable like this. Eames wonders what their relationship would be if he could have met Arthur in an earlier time in his life.

“Eames…” Arthur begs.

Eames uses a lone finger to circle Arthur’s hole. There’s plenty of slick there, so he gathers a bit of it up onto two fingers, then pushes them inside Arthur without preamble. The point man flinches, squeezing hard around his digits but then quickly relaxes a bit and pushes back as Eames pushes in several times.

He’s writhing enough on the bed and Eames is hard enough that he decides not to wait any longer. Placing one hand on Arthur’s thigh and the other on his member, he lines up with Arthur’s hole and slowly pushes in. Letting his prick move through that sweet, tight heat until he’s all the way in. Balls deep.

He pulls back and pushes in again, bending down to kiss Arthur’s clavicle, lick his neck up to his jaw and then to slowly and tenderly kiss Arthur on the mouth. At the same time he starts rolling his hips, slowly at first, then moderately to give Arthur space to adjust.

Arthur pulls back just a bit from him. He looks into Eames’ eyes, seemingly ready to ask a question. Ever perceptive and intuitive, Eames answers him before he can form the words.

“I can’t not kiss you darling. Not when you’re gripping me like this.”

Arthur stills for a moment. Then he firmly places his hands on Eames’ face opening his mouth so the forger’s tongue can surge inside. The dual sensation of being penetrated by his tongue and his dick force out a cry from Arthur in a register he doesn’t even recognize.

Eames’ stubble is rubbing against his jaw and his wiry chest hair is electrifying Arthur’s skin in a good way. The sensation of slick running down his thighs reminds him how licentious this all is. Instead of recoiling in horror like he would at any other time, he raises his legs slightly, encouraging Eames to bend them back even further until he’s folded together like a lawn chair.

“Oh you naughty fucking boy. Am I taking it too easy on ya?”

Arthur pulls pack just enough to smile at the forger, before leaning in again and biting at those lips.

With that, Eames lets loose a feral growl and starts snapping his hips rapidly, letting his arms rest against the back of Arthur’s thighs for support. He breaks their kiss now, moving his head into the nook between Arthur’s shoulder and his neck. They’re both sweating furiously, salty drops falling from Eames’ forehead and his neck.

The sound of his balls slapping against Arthur’s hole is just as telling as the furious squeaking of the mattress. There’s no quarter for tenderness or thoroughness to be had here. They’re speeding down the highway headed for destination “Flood the Gates” and neither of them could stop now even if they wanted to.

“Eames. Eames.” Arthur pushes gently at his chest to let him know to raise up just a touch and then Arthur is grabbing his dick, stroking it roughly as he feels that familiar tingle that tells him he’s getting close. After a few more thrusts from Eames, Arthur’s hole contracts tightly around the forger and then he’s coming over and over onto his stomach and his hand; slightly rubbing it against Eames’ abdomen as he refuses to let go.

It’s not long after that that Eames feels his own balls draw so very close to his body, feels a current of lightning fly up his spine and then he pushes himself in as deep as he can go. His growling is loud, almost feral as his knot expands against Arthur’s flesh until Arthur is pulled as tight as he can possibly go. Then Eames’ cock begins to pulse. Hot, thick streams of cum pour inside Arthur, making him cry out at just how plugged up he is. Bent back, smashed close and filled to the brim with Eames’ cum and his cock and his knot.

He starts to wonder what his life would be like if he said to hell with those pills and just let nature take it’s course. Being bent out of shape, sickly and feverish is certainly no fun. But he’s starting to enjoy the act that alleviates all of that. What would it feel like to have an Alpha boyfriend? Someone in tune with his cycle, ready and capable to fuck him back into some sense of normality? With the right person it might be nice. In another life, it might even be nice with Eames.

* * *

They stay still until Eames has completely emptied himself. Eames raises up enough so Arthur can let his legs down, then rolls them both gently onto their sides until they’re facing one another. Both of them are still too wired to go to sleep. Instead, they lie there together, taking steadying breaths.

Eames is looking directly at Arthur, stroking his shoulder and the side of his face with timid fingers. Arthur can’t look him in the eye just yet. He lowers his eyes down to the copious tattoos curving and swirling around Eames’ chest. He wants to know what compelled the forger to get them. If they hurt or even if they’re dedicated to someone. He reaches out to gently stroke Eames’ chest hair. It’s a reddish brown, thick, but soft to the touch.

When Eames takes his hands and begins to softly kiss his fingers, Arthur can’t help but reveal a hint of a smile. The man may be a pain in the ass to work with, but he’s gentle enough like this. Arthur realizes now why Eames always has someone waiting for him in every city they work. This feels nice and sincere and safe. He could use more of it in his own personal life.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such an ass to you.”

“No need to apologize darling. This has all been unexpected. For me as well.”

Eames is now holding Arthur’s hand against his chest. He’d love to kiss the man again, but he figures that might be too much in this moment. Plus Arthur’s hand is an anchor to help him push down those blasted feelings that keep creeping to the surface. _He has a boyfriend, you twit. You know casual sex better than anyone. So why are thinking anything could ever…?_

Arthur sighs, shaking his head a bit.

“I just…don’t know what my life’s gonna be like if I have to stay like this. Will my coworkers respect me? I mean, would they actually take me seriously? Take instruction from me?

“Arthur?” Eames is stroking the back of his hand with his thumb.

“Or would they shrug me off as a temperamental omega, who’s more dedicated to his heat cycles than to finishing a job?”

“Arthur. Arthur!” He gazes softly at the point man whose face is gathering the familiar frowns Eames is accustomed to. He can’t really blame the man. This is a lot to deal with all at once.

“I know that you’re scared and worried…”

“You don’t know what this feels like,” Arthur interrupts.

“No.” Eames confesses, “I don’t know what this feels like. But I can tell you that people who care for you, who respect you, even truly love you, won’t feel any differently about you when they find out.”

“Will my- Fuck, I have a lot of explaining to do to Robert.”

Eames touches his face again, letting his fingers traipse gently over Arthur’s lips in place of the kiss he really wants to give.

“If Robert can’t handle it, there are plenty of people who will love you Arthur. Exactly as you are. The world is much bigger than you think. Believe me.”

It’s as close to an admission as Eames is willing to make and as much comfort and hazy post sex talk as Arthur feels comfortable having. They soon drift off to sleep, Eames holding one arm protectively around him and Arthur letting himself go lax again, free of worry for just a little while.

Eames awakens once his knot has gone down completely and eases himself out of Arthur’s body. The point man rolls over, sighing.

Eames gently cleans them both off with a damp wash cloth and then quietly dresses and goes back to his room.

* * *

In the morning, Yusuf takes an early flight out to London. Eames gets dressed and connects with Dom. He makes up an excuse about needing to leave this job early. Since Dom feels they have everything back under control, he allows it. Before he goes, Eames writes Arthur a quick note, slipping one of the unused vials of somnacin into a small package and sealing it shut. He’s not a hundred percent certain this help, but it can’t hurt for him to have it. At least it will tide him over until Yusuf can sort things out.

He waits until late morning to deliver the package to Arthur. Arthur looks much better now. He figures he may have a few more days of discomfort, but at least Eames has gotten him through the worst of it. They part in their usual manner. As formal and perfunctory as possible. Arthur does linger for a moment in the doorway before Eames heads off. He watches Eames carry his bags all the way to the elevator and then goes back inside.

* * *

Eames doesn’t see Arthur for another six months. His first stop after Cairo is Durban, South Africa. From there, he drives to Coffee Bay to do a little surveillance and investigating of his own. Turns out Cobol Engineering convinced Nash to destroy the dream root crop as a way to stifle Cobb’s work. They thought that would keep him in one place long enough for them to capture him; turn him over to the authorities or possibly torture him for his failed dealings with them. Eames gets word back to Cobb through his contacts. The man’s been through enough for God’s sake. So he needs to be aware that Cobol is still on the hunt.

When word gets out that Eames is gunning for Nash, he drops off everyone’s radar, of course. But pulling in favors means that eventually Eames tracks him down to a small fishing village on the coast of Thailand. His first impulse is to kill the man. He not only betrayed Cobb again, he put their entire job in jeopardy and worst of all, he completely fucked with Arthur’s chemistry. Well with his medicine, but you know.

Eames chooses to work him over, instead. That should ensure that he won’t be a problem for any of them in the future. And if Nash does get any bright ideas or decides to use them for a round of quick cash…well he simply promises he won’t possess any restraint on his next visit.

Back in Mombasa, Yusuf is finally able to test Arthur’s heat suppressant against the new somnacin compound, plus a tiny portion of the original compound. He discovers that substituting the African dream root with Afghani poppy flowers is what rendered Arthur’s medicine null and void in the first place. After research and help getting plant samples from North and South America, Yusuf is able to use the Galanthus nivalis plant as an interim substitute for the formula. Turns out he’ll be able to source large quantities of the plant from Mozambique and Zimbabwe. He’s able to make those connections care of his best mate.

And Eames? Well Eames decides to take a little time to travel and rest. He rents out a lovely flat in Capri, Italy where he can fish and swim and take long walks into and around the hills to clear his head. He’s slightly shocked one day, after a lovely visit to the Blue Grotto to find Arthur at his doorstep. The man is wearing short sleeves, khaki shorts and his hair is longer than Eames has ever seen it. He looks relaxed and completely pedestrian. Eames has never been more intrigued.

Eames lets Arthur inside, offering him fresh lemonade from the cooler. They stand in his small kitchen, drinking it down to drown out the awkward silence between them.

“Yusuf told me where you were. I’m not going to stay, so I hope you’re not too angry with me for prying.”

Arthur’s dangerously curly hair makes him seem unkempt and more attractive than ever. Eames doesn’t realize that he’s staring until Arthur starts to blush, grinning just enough that the dimple in his left cheek begins to show.

“S’no worries mate. Yusuf’s not one for keeping secrets much anyways.” Eames finishes off his drink and then casually leans against the counter.

Arthur clears his throat.

“Robert and I broke up.”

“Oh really?” the forger questions.

“Yeah. I…I came clean to him about everything. I didn’t tell him that you and I…”

“Of course not pet,” Eames offers. That information alone would be cause for a break-up.

“But I did tell him about my situation. He seemed fine for a while. But he didn’t like dealing with heat cycles. Didn’t want to be bothered with a feral boyfriend. So we went our separate ways.”

Eames wanted to ask how he was able to get through that heat completely. But he figured that was a question for another time.

Arthur took a small vial from his pocket and placed it on the countertop next to Eames hand. He stepped back, looking down at the wooden floor for a bit. Chewing his lip and then daring to look Eames in the eye. _He was truly precious in moments like this._

“I want to thank you. For taking me through my heat. For understanding that I might want to suppress this for the rest of my life.”

“Of course Arthur. It always was, is your choice to make. I’m sorry if I overstepped.” Eames had a small smile of contrition on his face.

“I haven’t been an omega for a really long time. And I didn’t have good experience with Alphas before that. But after…being with you. Maybe there is a chance that I can find someone who’ll love me just like this. Maybe I can be happy without hiding.”

“You never know, “ Eames says, standing straight as an arrow now, eyes directly on Arthur “maybe that someone’s much closer than you think.”

He goes over to the point man, invading his personal space without a care, and slowly, tenderly kisses Arthur, licking his bottom lip until the man opens up to take more. It’s a lazy kiss, not passionate or urgent. Eames’ lips are gently seeking, probing and he has no problem waiting until Arthur is ready to answer. Everything in its own time. In its own season.

* * *

Before he leaves Italy, Eames uses his last vial of somnacin to go under with his PASIV.

Dee’s not at the beachhouse this time. Instead she’s right at the shoreline, letting the creamy waves crash around her feet as she leans into the wind.

When she turns around, he’s watching her, his eyes joyful and saddened at the sight. Her baby bump is just visible underneath her shirt and her gait has changed. He can already tell that the baby has changed her center of gravity.

“I’ve met someone,” he tells her. His throat is achy and dry as he says it. It’s hard to admit this. Even inside a dream.

Deidre gently rubs her small belly and looks back at him longingly. This is how he remembers her. How she looked that very last day they spent together. Why couldn’t he tell something was wrong?

“I know,” she says softly.

They stand there gazing at one another.

“Do you love him?” The fact that she’s not angry, that she doesn’t fly into a rage, is what threatens to tear Eames apart now.

“I might do.” He answers. It’s the truth and yet right now, it feels hot. Like a searing betrayal that will slice their bond in two.

The silence around them engulfs their bodies into a vacuum. They’re beyond sand and sun and sea now. Just two people with a cleft of love and life surging between them.

“Please…” Eames gulps and lets out a soft cry. “Please don’t be angry with me. I can’t…I don’t wanna lose you.”

He’s grabbed her now. Wrapping her up in his arms and kissing her everywhere: neck, cheek, forehead, mouth. It’s harder for him to see now that there’s tears falling. He doesn’t bother wiping them away. Let’s their briny remnants settle on his lips and enter his mouth.

Deidre kisses him back. Long and slow and sumptuously. As if he’s the only thing she’ll ever want. She breaks from the kiss to really look at him, smiling through her own tears now and touching him so gently that he thinks his heart might break into pieces.

“You can never lose me, my love. I’m always here. Waiting for you.”

Now Eames is sobbing, grasping her shirt a little too tight and laying his head on her shoulder.

“It’s time my darling,” she whispers softly.

And with that his alarm sounds and he’s back in Capri in the bungalow. Once he’s removed the needle from his arm, he gets a warm cloth to wipe his face. He’d been crying for real this time. It was all too much to handle.

Tomorrow he’ll fly out to London to spend more time with Arthur. He wants to move slowly. Let things progress and see how they fare. The world is strange and harsh, but now there is a chance for more. He’s willing and ready to take it.


End file.
